


Who I Am Hates Who I've Been

by AngeDeLumiere



Series: King of Pain [3]
Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-04-19 12:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4746848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeDeLumiere/pseuds/AngeDeLumiere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akihito had a sharp mind, despite the dumb blond act he put on sometimes. There was only one man that could cause so much vitriolic consternation: Asami Ryuichi. And the fixer that had always seemed to be indestructible was going to die tomorrow before two o'clock, when the Japanese parliament met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:
> 
> Here is the third and final part of the King of Pain series. I own nothing but the scenarios, and even then I'm not picky. Thank you to Miyanoai for betaing. She worked most of the weekend and still managed to crank this out. She's the best.
> 
> As I said previously, this is the sequel to first Clean and then He Would Be There. If you haven't read those, this story won't be in context. They aren't necessary, but it's like you starting the Harry Potter series with The Goblet of Fire. You'll know what is happening the story, but you lost a bunch of back info.
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter One:

Akihito sat on the bed, his knees drawn up to his chest and a thin sheet tucked around them. Dawn was starting to crest over the iridescent cityscape. Already, he could hear Tokyo stirring. He had spent the past year living closer to the ground, and further from the clouds as he slept next to a different man. He had forgotten how the sounds of life had comforted him. He hated the quiet, being so far removed from his peers, his friends, his equals. 

This was how life was supposed to be. Lying next to a partner who loved you, despite your flaws, your annoying habits. Kenzou slept on, peacefully unaware of Akihito’s wandering mind. The marketing analyst did not have to be awake for another hour, so Akihito let him sleep. Forgoing the kiss he usually pressed against Kenzou’s temple, Akihito stepped out of the bed. Kenzou did not stir. 

He needed to get a quick shower in before work. They were having a staff meeting, and as a newly promoted member of the senior staff, Akihito actually had to speak. The water was warm as it ran down his back, but Akihito barely felt it. He had been numb for a long time, so long that feeling anything surprised him. Rinsing his hair, head titled back, the photographer looked at the popcorn ceiling. He hated that ceiling. It was tacky, and outdated. But this was not his apartment. It was Kenzou’s, and he only lived there. So he said nothing. 

Kenzou was starting to wake up as Akihito was pulling on his jeans. Rather than speak to his boyfriend, the photographer grabbed his coffee mug and camera. As the front door shut, Akihito heard Kenzou break from his hypnopompic stupor. He kept walking. He needed to get to work. 

*

The staff meeting was boring, full of the same trite rhetoric as last month’s meeting. The paper was barely making ends meet. The advertising department needed to boost sales. The stockholders––the few they had–– were grumbling. The walls were crumbling all around them, the ceiling barely still above their heads. If they didn’t change their ways, they soon would be unable to make rent.

Things never changed. There was always a small push at the beginning of the month, an attempt to get their shit together and save their failing paper. It never lasted, and they always made less money. Sales were at an all time low. 

Akihito had other job offers. He left the Tokyo Sun when he left Asami, wanting to sever all ties entirely. He expected the fixer to send men to find him and drag him back to the condo. Instead, his things were neatly packed and sent to Kou’s. His best friend had not even known that he had left Asami until Kirishima had shown up on his doorstep. The secretary was stunned by the admission. He, and Asami by extension, had assumed that Akihito would take refuge with his friends. 

“Takaba,” his editor, a grizzled man named Oshishi, motioned for him to come near with his fingers. “You’ve got a call from Wakazaki.”

Wakazaki was the editor-in-chief of the Asahi Shimbun. Akihito often got freelance offers from large papers because his photobook detailing the Yukimura Antiquity Exhibition was a smashing success. He could have gone to any paper after leaving the Sun because of the notoriety. He had chosen to work somewhere small, off the beaten path where he wouldn’t run into Asami. His current gig did not pay much, but the odd jobs kept him from the red. 

“Thanks,” Akihito nodded, heading for his small office. 

“Line two,” Oshishi held up two fingers. 

“This is Takaba,” Akihito picked up his phone, which he was pretty sure was manufactured in the nineties. 

“Takaba, this is Wakazaki,” the familiar voice replied. Akihito had done several risky jobs for the man while he was with the fixer. “I’ve got a job, if you want it.”

Anyone who had a freelance job called him at the office. He didn’t have a cellphone anymore. Kenzou offered to buy him one but Akihito declined seeing it as just another way for Asami to track him. 

“Wakazaki, it’s been a long time,” Akihito pulled out a notepad and a pen. “Give me the details.”

The photographer could swear he was smiling. 

*

He called Kenzou to let him know that he would be home late. His boyfriend was less than pleased with the call. “Do you realize that you could die?” the analyst said slowly, after a moment of silence. “You nearly did last time.”

The last time had been a month ago. Akihito had fallen off a fire escape-–his balance wasn’t quite as good as he thought it was. He had dislocated his elbow, and had to wear a sling for ten days. Kenzou thought the fall would have killed him or at least knocked some sense into his thick skull. It didn’t. Before that, he needed twenty stitches when the perp beat him with his camera. Akihito still had the scars from that one. 

“It’s my job,” Akihito pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No,” argued Kenzou. “Your job is to take pictures. Not to jump off building and destroy crime syndicates.”

He had given up criminal journalism after he left Asami. He didn’t want to take him down, didn’t want to see the man at all actually. It was better for everyone if they pretended that the other did not exist. 

After seeing Asami six months ago, his need for adrenaline returned. He started going for the big scoops, the drug deals and the dirty politicians. As long as Asami wasn’t involved, it was fair game. It was the only thing that made him feel alive. Feel anything, really. Kenzou had been frantic the first night Akihito came home injured. Kou sighed as he rolled his eyes, knowing that it was long overdue. Akihito could not repress who he was indefinitely. 

At first, Kenzou tried to distract him with kinky (but not really) sex, and then with extreme sports. Akihito liked the sports. It worked for a short while, but the thrill was temporal. He needed the rush from his life or death scoops to feel. Even then, the edge had begun to wear off, forcing him to go after bigger, more dangerous men. 

Kenzou was reaching his wits end. 

“That’s always been my job,” retorted the photographer. “Long before we were together.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days. And I don’t know what I’ll do with myself then,” Kenzou sighed forlornly. 

“We’ve only been together for a year,” Akihito snapped. “You’d move on. Find somebody new,” he said it with more acerbic heat than he intended to. But he was starting to feel smothered, controlled, and there was no way Kenzou could love him, truly deeply really love him, in one year. It was puppy love, a fatuous infatuation. Right?

He could hear his boyfriend recoil. “That’s cruel.”

Akihito wanted to bang his head repeatedly on his desk, but he thought it would splinter if he did. “Look, I don’t want to fight now. I can’t be distracted on the job. Can we talk about this when I get home tonight?”

“Don’t bother coming home tonight if you don’t think I love you,” the man hissed. The photographer heard his tears. 

“Kenzou, that’s not what I meant––“ Akihito started to explain, but his boyfriend cut him off. 

“I’ll know how you feel about me––about us––tonight.” There was a click, and the line went dead. 

Akihito dropped the phone on his desk as he slumped back in his chair. He didn’t need this. He had work to do. Grabbing his red pen, he started to mark notes on the latest batch of photos his team turned in. They were a good group of kids, but they were still learning the tricks to the job. He could tell that before the film had even been developed. But it was his job to bring them up to snuff, and he was determined to do it. 

*

Wakazaki had stumbled upon reputable info that Tsukishiba Bunko was going to meet with the Chinese Ambassador to Japan, Yang Zhu. Akihito recognized Tsukishiba’s picture when he met with Wakazaki. He was a slimy politician that took a perverse pleasure in thwarting Asami’s legal efforts. It wasn’t some moral defenestration of Asami’s power, but a legal way to push his own political agenda and subsequent financial gain, while weakening Asami’s regime. 

The fixer had constantly searched for a way to end Tsukishiba, but was unable to do so quietly. The photographer smirked to himself. It would be poetic if he were the one to take Tsukishiba down, and not the crime lord. Best of all, Akihito was going to do it for justice, not some misguided act of love for Asami Ryuichi. 

Akihito assured the Asahi Shimbun editor that he could get the job done, no problem with no questions asked. He had the guts and the talent to do the job discreetly. He did not need to know Wakazaki’s motives, who he wanted to expose and take down. All he needed to do was get the job done. 

The meeting was at six-thirty, a perfectly nefarious and dastardly time, set not under the cover of darkness, but the cover of dinner. No politician could have an illicit meeting in a government building. Even if it was a private matter, the global implications would be severe. Tsukishiba owned a botanical garden that would provide the effect cover. Though a public place, very few visitors would be there at suppertime, and it allowed Tsukishiba complete control over the situation. 

Akihito paid his cover charge to get in, making a mental note to add it to his expense tab that he submitted to Wakazaki. The gardens were beautiful. It was stunning to see the virid vegetation and brightly colored flowers in the heart of the urban metropolis. He wandered around the cobbled paths. He wanted to find what Tsukishiba would consider to be the best meeting place. 

The gardens were spacious, cram packed with foreign flowers, but sat only on three acres of land. Unless the men went into the massive foliage for their rendezvous, the potential meeting places were limited. Akihito considered planting microphones just in case he guessed wrong. However, Wakazaki wanted photographic evidence, so Akihito needed to skip the microphones and guess correctly. He did have a tape recorder prepped just in case.

“Oh shit,” the photographer ducked his head. 

Tsukishiba’s partner, Yang Zhu walked around with two men flanking him. There was no way that the dignitary could recognize Akihito, but the photographer took no chances. Asami was no longer going to bail him out of danger, not that Akihito depended on that before or after their relationship, but he did not need to be reckless.

He discreetly followed the man, snapping more photos of flowers than Yang. Akihito knew he looked like a cheesy tourist, but it allowed him to observe the foreigner. He walked tall, proud, and curious––a true tourist to the Elysian wonders. Nothing about him screamed flagitious, and Akihito would never have given the man a second glance if Wakazaki had not tipped him off. 

The three men spoke in Chinese. Akihito retained fragments of the language from his time with Feilong. Words like “Here…close…too obvious…good…” intermingled with undistinguishable chatter. He sensed that they were looking for a suitable meeting spot. 

The photojournalist followed Yang around for an hour before it was time for the meeting. Yang’s men turned, and walked in opposite directions as Tsukishiba approached. They shook hands, and then walked away from Tsukishiba’s men. Akihito followed in a roundabout fashion, circumnavigating the men and the ducking into the bush. Yang and Tsukishiba were maybe a meter away from the photographer. He wanted to use his Nikon but the shutter snap would alert them to his snooping. So he was forced to use the small periscope lens that he attached to a handheld camera. 

“He is a threat to our global control,” Tsukishiba stated firmly. Damn, Akihito snapped the first picture. He got there a little too late, and had missed Tsukishiba’s opening pitch. 

Yang was nodding slowly. “You don’t have to convince me again, Tsukishiba. I’m here because I agree with you,” he said in heavily accented Japanese.

“I just wanted to remind you what’s at stake here,” Tsukishiba glanced around furtively. “He controls the eastern seaboard, and if he is able to push through the senate bill tomorrow, he’ll have most of the western seaboard as well. Free trade is challenging enough without having to pay him tariffs to unload our shipments.”

Yang bit his thumb. “My team is thorough. It can be done prudently, but it will take a fortnight.” 

“No,” Tsukishiba’s voice was as hard as steel. “It needs to be tomorrow morning, before the senate meeting. That way he can’t force anything to happen.”

“It wouldn’t delay the meeting,” Yang said pointedly. 

“No, but it was fluster everyone enough to withhold the vote. It gives us more time to place the rights bribes, to make things go our way,” replied the Japanese politician with a jerky shrug of his shoulders. 

It was a delicate conversation. They could have been talking about filibustering or bribes. They weren’t, though. Akihito could not breath. His heart raced so loudly that he could barely hear. They were talking about an assassination. He snapped another picture, as he glanced at the tape recorder in his pocket. He was going to take this to the police the moment they were done speaking. Wakazaki could get his story, and Akihito could save someone’s life. 

Yang pulled out a package of cigarettes. As he offered one to Tsukishiba, he said, “You’ve thought this through.”

Tsukishiba lit his cigarette. “I have had a long time to plan this,” he agreed. “And I really hate that man.”

The two chuckled. Akihito snapped another picture––anything to focus on something other than the dread that pooled in his gut. He had a sharp mind, despite the dumb blond act he put on sometimes. There was only one man that could cause so much vitriolic consternation: Asami Ryuichi. And the fixer that had always seemed to be indestructible was going to die tomorrow before two o’clock, when the Japanese parliament met. 

Yang smirked. “Don’t we all? Tomorrow morning shouldn’t be an issue. But it will be dirty. Close range.”

That seemed to surprise Tsukishiba. “Why no sniper?”

“That takes time to prepare,” explained the diplomat. “If you want it to be immediate, it won’t have any finesse.”

“Asami deserves a messy death,” Tsukishiba glared at nothing but the thought of the fixer. “I would rather it be slow and painful, but at this point, I just want him dead.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Yang agreed. 

Akihito’s stomach clenched. He was going to vomit any second. He wasn’t worried about giving away his location. All he could see was Asami laying on the sidewalk, a hole the size of his fist in chest, and Kirishima covered in erythraean blood as he tried to stop the bleeding.

“My man will require a partner. Someone to provide both an alibi and information on his target,” Yang took one last, long drag off his dying cancer stick 

“I can have Taoka ready by six o’clock. He’s one of my best men. Strong and smart, he’d be a perfect partner. Besides, he needs to see how this is done. I can’t keep turning to my allies to have my business handled,” Tsukishiba said quickly. 

Yang nodded disinterestedly. “My man will be waiting at the Takadanobaba metro station at seven thirty. It is fifteen minutes from the Sion offices.”

Akihito stopped moving. Stopped thinking. Stopped breathing. The next words were the most important ones he would ever hear in his life. Asami’s life depended on them. 

“Yes,” said Yang blithely, as if they were discussing the weather and not ending a man’s life. “Have your man meet mine there at that time. He’ll be coming via train, dressed as a civilian. Your man, Taoka, needs to have my payment, as well a dossier on Asami Ryuichi.”

Tsukishiba furrowed. “You aren’t going to brief him yourself?”

Yang looked genuinely surprised by the suggestion. “Of course not. I have no official knowledge of any of this. And by using your man, neither will you.”

“Oh,” Tsukishiba bit his lip. “That’s a good idea.”

Yang did not answer him. Tossing his cigarette on the ground, he stubbed it out with his toe. He nodded to his accomplice. There were no pleasantries, no goodbyes. The men turned and walked away, back to their subordinates. Akihito fell to his knees. Sobs wracked his body. Tears clogged his throat, streamed from his eyes, turned the dirt into mud. And when he could cry no more, when his body stopped sucking in oxygen, Akihito collapsed onto the ground. Blackness consumed him, and he let it all go. 

*

Akihito spent the entire night wandering around Tokyo. He had awoken minutes after his collapse. Usually sleep––unconsciousness––soothed his fears, made them less visceral and more conquerable. Not this time. Not when Asami was going to die tomorrow morning. 

When he awoke, Akihito did not think. Just acted. He ran to a payphone, dug through his pockets for loose change, but it was futile. He did not know Asami’s number, or Kirishima’s or Suoh’s. Swearing, his threw the phone against the Plexiglas. The metal reverberated loudly, the walls shook but did not break. Akihito wanted to scream in frustration, but another thought struck him. Sion––of course! It wasn’t even nine yet. The fixer would still be at work. 

Akihito ran like he had never run before. Men shouted as he shoved past them. Cars screeched to a halts, horns blaring, drivers’ fists shaking as he darted through traffic. His camera bound heavy on his back, bruising him. He didn’t care. He was so close to Sion, to warning Asami. 

The familiar entrance of the tall building nearly glowed like a beacon. Contrary to popular belief, Sion’s office buildings were separate and far away from the club that birthed Asami’s empire. Still, the fixer always had a guard disguised as a doorman standing tall, keeping anyone out. The building was state of the art, equipped with doors that would not open without a chip that was on every employee badge. But the guard could open it. 

“Stop right there,” the thick man stepped between Akihito and the door. While he was with Asami, the fixer had given him a badge that would let him into Sion. To this day, Akihito carried it in his wallet. He should have tossed it years ago, but sentimentality made him keep it in the back of his wallet. Now it was going to be put to good use. 

“I’m getting out my card,” Akihito snapped. It was hard to run and riffle through the brittle leather. 

“You don’t work here, kid,” he said evenly. He stood in front of the card reader, arms folded. “I know everyone who does.” 

“It’s important,” Akihito jerked the card out last pocket. “Asami’s life is at stake!”

The guard grabbed Akihito’s wrist as he tried to shove his way past the man. The key was suddenly cumbrous, too wide to fit in properly in the reader, too thick to slide smoothly. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or that his hand was shaking so badly that it fluttered like a hummingbird’s wing. 

“You can’t go in there!” the guard repeated. 

“I know what you’re saying but I don’t care,” Akihito snapped. “I’m not going to let them kill Asami!”

“Get away,” the guard flung Akihito forcefully away from the door. “Even if that outdated card worked, I wouldn’t let you in. I know who you are.” 

“Then you know I’m trying to help Asami!” Akihito screamed. He could not believe it . This man, this idiot, was going to keep him outside. Keep him from saving Asami’s life. 

“You’re a reporter,” the man scathingly hissed. “You’re just trying to get an inside scoop on the boss. I won’t let you ruin him.” So he did not know that he was an old lover. He just saw a journalist. 

“No! No! No!” Akihito screamed. He needed to get in that building. Asami needed to be warned. 

“Get away from that door!” the guard slipped his hand into his jacket. Akihito knew what he was doing: going for a gun. “I will use this!” 

Fuck! There was no way he was going to get into Sion. If he knew Suoh’s number he would get a hold of him. Shaking his head, he looked the guard in the eye. “Just pass the message along to Suoh Kazumi, okay? He’s Asami’s head of security. Let him, or Kirishima Kei or even Asami himself know that a guy name Tsukishiba plans to assassinate him tomorrow morning!” Lunging forward, Akihito grabbed the guard by the jacket. “Just fucking tell somebody!” he shook the heavy man.

Letting him go, the guy stumbled back. Turning on his leg, Akihito took off running again. Sion was a bust. The stupid guard was too rigid in his job, too aware of the rules that were meant to stop danger and not listening to the imminent threat that was about to come. Still, Asami had a home. And Akihito had always been friendly with the doorman. 

*

“Takaba-san, I can’t let you in!” Souji, the doorman had to physically restrain Akihito. The photographer struggled to get through the revolving glass doors. “You don’t live here anymore!”

“Souji, they’re going to kill him! There is a hit out on Asami! He needs to know!”’ Akihito fought against the skinny man. Souji was no bigger than Akihito, slender and dressed in an uncomfortable burgundy uniform. He did not have the mobility that the photographer did, but he had the fear of his boss’s. He refused to let the former tenant inside the ritzy building, where the elite thrived. 

Souji threw him hard, far away from the door. “Stop!” he shouted. Souji hinged forward at the waist his arms outstretched to keep Akihito back, away from the door. “You and I both know you can’t come in here anymore, Takaba-san. Residents only.”

“You don’t understand!” the photographer wailed, ready to tear his hair out. “I HAVE TO SEE ASAMI!”

“He doesn’t live here anymore!” Souji shouted right back at him. “He hasn’t for two years!” Akihito stumbled back, mouth dropped open and his shoulders heaving. He could not believe his ears. Asami had left his home, their home, a long time ago. Just like Akihito. Souji saw his speechlessness and capitalized on it. “Please, Takaba-san. You need to leave!!”

“Souji, listen to me,” Akihito plead as he shook his hands in frustration. “A man named Tsukishiba Bunko has put out a hit on Asami’s life! They’re going to kill him tomorrow morning! You need to tell me where he lives now! Someone here must know!” 

“Takaba-san, you need to leave,” Souji repeated. “You can’t be on the premise any longer.”

Akihito howled, drawing the attention of many passersby. “Are you even listening to me? Asami is going to die if I don’t tell him what I heard!” he shouted at his once-upon-a-time friend. 

Souji’s shoulders slumped. “You aren’t the first to come spewing stories like this,” Souji shook his head. “I’ve heard them before, from different people desperate to get back into Asami-sama’s life. And none of them have turned out to be true.”

Akihito’s gut dropped. “You don’t understand!” Akihito tried to pull out his tape recorder. “I’ve got proof! I taped them talking about it!”

“Just stop,” Souji plead. He sounded sympathetic, as if he could understand Akihito’s broken heart. “I’ve heard all the stories. Seen all the evidence. I don’t care how well you can fake it. I know it isn’t really. No one will believe you!”

“You have to!” Akihito shouted. 

“No,” Souji said firmly. “Now go. Or I’ll have to alert security.”

“Souji,” Akihito whispered. “Please.” He had to believe the photographer. He just had to. Asami couldn’t die. Not if Akihito had information that could stop it. 

“Leave, Takaba. Now.”

*

That was what lead to him to drifting through downtown Tokyo, hands stuffed in his pockets and his head bent. The weight on his shoulders was suffocating; the sky must have weighed less. Asami Ryuichi was going to die tomorrow morning, and nobody would be able to stop it. 

He could just go home. Kenzou was waiting for him, undoubtedly wanting to have their talk. He knew that Akihito often worked into the wee hours of the morning, especially if he had a story. The marketing analyst would not suspect a thing was wrong if Akihito only now went home. Akihito could always leave Asami to his fate. The fixer had inflicted far worse agony on the world than a simple gunshot. He surely must have known that his time on the planet was limited, that somebody someday would outwit him. That he would be taken out like all of the others that he had killed. 

Perhaps it was fate. Even if Akihito had managed to warn the crime lord, another attempt would have eventually arisen. It was the nature of the fixer’s business. There was always a top dog, and the food chain. Mankind wanted to be on top, to rule. They seized the ability via the evolutionary chain, and perhaps it was instinctual, but the need to subjugate was strong. Someone would always want to take Asami down, and one day, someone would succeed. It was just a matter of time. And on that fateful, predestined day neither Akihito nor anyone else would be able to stop the bullet meant for him. 

Asami was human, and all humans died.

He turned down a back alleyway that cut Shinjuku in half. It would get him home quicker. Kenzou’s apartment was not anywhere near the affluent area, they both were too poor even with their combined incomes. Akihito could be home within the hour, where he could sort this mess out with Kenzou, and then bury his head in a pillow and pretend he knew nothing. 

The first few days would be hard, especially whenever Asami’s obituary made front page news. Akihito would still have Kenzou. They would go on, living their lives together as kind people, doing good in their little corner of the world. 

Kenzou…If Akihito were honest with himself, he knew that the relationship was falling apart. The sex was good, their home was full of laughter, and the marketing analyst was an all around good guy––the antithesis of Asami. However, they just did not mesh well together. Kenzou liked the apartment to be clean, with all the dishes done, and if the television was on, it was not the latest gore fest. Akihito did care for the man. He could admit that. However, he was starting to remember the good times, not live them. 

Akihito took a sharp right––the opposite direction of home. He knew that the fight was his fault. Kenzou was worried about his latest scoop. It was too dangerous, the men he was photographing would kill him without a second thought. Getting the pictures meant nothing to his boyfriend if Akihito invited danger to their door. Also, he was very aware that Akihito could take a position at another paper and make twice as much, something he urged the photographer to consider daily. If only Akihito was not so stubborn. 

Kenzou really didn’t have the patience to be with the blond, let alone live with him. Akihito was cantankerous and stubborn once his mind was made up. He refused to change his ways, expecting others to react to him. There was very little compromise. He knew that he had a strong will, and that he needed to be with someone who had an equally strong will, who could keep him in check, and not have his way all the time. 

Kenzou was not that person. 

Lost in thought, Akihito roamed the city all night, as if his staying awake would prevent dawn from coming. Come sunrise, he found himself standing on the boardwalk, staring at sunrise coming over the Pacific. Vendors were slowly arriving to open their shops as the seagulls clucked like chickens. The shimmering moonlight was replaced by dawn’s spindling fingers. Rosy magenta bled into the inky sapphire and the golden sun, the colors running together like a watercolor in the rain. 

The day had come at last. In just a few short hours, Asami Ryuichi would be dead. Assassinated. Murdered. 

He guessed that Kenzou had his answer; Akihito had not gone home. He didn’t believe that Kenzou loved him, and he really did not care about their relationship. They were over. Akihito was not saddened at all. 

He had tried to warn the fixer. He had told every single person that he possibly could. No one seemed to believe him, but maybe the tip was several enough to tell Asami anyway. A guy could always hope. 

Akihito thought back over the past few years of his life. He was a shell of who he used to be. He barely talked to his friends, barely socializing. He was falling apart now more than he was when he was with Asami. Akihito did not recognize himself when he looked in the mirror. The transformation was even physical. 

Seeing Asami at the bar with that woman was an electric shock to his system. The crime lord looked so unaffected by their meeting. Though Akihito had been rattled to his core, he tried not to let it show. It was that night he realized that his heart had shattered. It wasn’t Kenzou pretending that they were not together, but the simple act of Asami bringing her a beer. It took Akihito back to when he has happy and loved and when he had loved in return. To see that the fixer had moved on was the most painful thing Akihito had ever experienced. 

He had not wanted the crime lord to know, so he put on a brave face, and pretended that he didn’t care. Asami would never see that part of him. 

One thought fought its way to the front of his consciousness. It was the one irrevocable truth: he refused to live in a world without Asami in it. He had tried all possible avenues to get word to the crime lord, but his efforts had fallen short. That left only one option. 

He was going to intervene. 

If no one would help him save Asami, Akihito would just do it himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Miyanoai for both beta’ing and for troubleshooting with me! It’s because of her that this chapter is five thousand words rather than three. So you should be grateful!

Chapter Two:

It was a long way to Takadanobaba station. Akihito’s wanderings led him to the outer edge of Tokyo. He was going to have to haul ass if he wanted to get to the terminal first. The plan was simple: get to the subway, intercept the file on Asami and figure out who the assassins were, and then rush to warn Asami with the evidence. 

He did not have a plan beyond that, but Akihito knew that if he accomplished all that, his day was off to a good start. 

“Taxi!” he screamed, running into the middle of the road. 

The yellow cab screeched to a halt, the metallic peel of the breaks hurting his eardrums. Akihito winced. Behind the cab, several cars had to slam on their breaks to avoid ramming into each other. The morning air was suddenly full of outraged shouts and horns. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the cabbie shouted as he hung out of the car’s window. 

Akihito did not answer him. He sprinted around the car and yanked open the door. “I need to get to Takadanobaba Metro Station!” he cried. “Now!” There was no way he could have made it there in time on foot. Tokyo was just too big. Even traveling in a car would be cutting it close. 

“Okay,” the cabbie grumbled. He hit his turn signal, and patiently waited to change lanes. “You really should be more careful. You can’t just go running into the street like that. Cabs pull over to pick you up, you know.”

Akihito ground his teeth in frustration. The car slowly ambled down the streets, as if there was no rush. As if Asami’s life did not hang in the balance. “Can you step on it?” he asked. “I’m in a hurry.”

The cabbie motioned to the standstill traffic with his hand. “Can’t fix this, kid. I can only go so fast as the car in front of me.”

The car was faster than running. Taking a taxi was faster than running. Akihito kept chanting to himself. Even if it felt like he was not moving quickly, it was still better than running. He tried to slow his breathing, to focus on the fact that he was moving fast, and to stay calm. The cabbie tried to maintain a cheery conversation He asked where Akihito was from, if he was visiting someone, or maybe if he was going to a job interview. Akihito did not answer, finding the man annoying. Eventually, the cabbie stopped talking. The photographer was grateful. 

It took less time than Akihito thought to reach the tunnel, but it still felt like an eternity. He really did not have a plan once he arrived; only knowing that he had to stop them before they got to Asami. Not a good plan, but Akihito wasn’t exactly known for his good plans. When they arrived––finally arrived––at Takadanobaba station, Akihito threw the yen at the cabbie and scrambled out of the car, ignoring the man’s strangled protests. 

Takadanobaba Metro Station was jam-packed, even though it was only seven o’clock. People were queued up, antsily dancing from one foot to the next as they waited for their trains. Grabbing a newspaper, the photographer sat on a bench. From his vantage point, he could see anyone who got off the subway, or when they came down the stairs into the terminal. The photographer would see the assassins long before they went after Asami. Camera poised, ready to snap the incriminating photos, he lay in wait. 

Shortly after he arrived, a man in a snug gray suit jaunted down the steps, a briefcase in hand and an envelope under his arm. Akihito noticed him immediately, the hair on his neck horripilating. He knew the suave man with the slick back hair was Tsukishiba’s man Taoka. He blended into the drab background and the faceless masses who were all dressed exactly the same as he was. He was the perfect assassin who Asami would never see coming. 

Taoko bought a paper from the same vendor as Akihito. He walked around, keeping it tucked underneath his arm. He waited with the rest of Shinjuku. 

At seven-twenty-nine, the train pulled into the metro. At seven-thirty, the doors opened. People swarmed the platform as a somber mass surged from within the subway, becoming an indistinguishable mob of arriving and parting. Akihito kept his eyes on Taoka, terrified that the man might vanish in the throng. He was talking to a man in a dark suit with a dark tie. Yang’s man. What was most surprising about Yang’s assassin was that he wasn’t Chinese like his employer, but Japanese. In fact, he was as unremarkable as every other twenty-five to forty year old man in Tokyo. 

Akihito was overwhelmed by the deadly simplicity of Yang and Tsukishiba’s plan. Taoka met the mystery assassin, hand extended. They spoke quietly as Taoka handed over the dossier on Asami. That was the key to the assassination plan, and ultimately what Akihito needed to get his hands on. It would be the proof that Tsukishiba conspired against the fixer, and if Yang’s assassin did not have time to analyze the file, he might not be able to execute Asami. 

The assassins–– Taoka and Yang’s Mr. X–– were already walking towards the terminal exit, doubtlessly looking for a place to sit and examine the dossier. The hit was scheduled for eight o’clock, when Asami arrived at Sion. It was not a large window of time, but plenty if Mr. X was quick about it. Seconds more and they would be gone from his sight, lost to the masses of Shinjuku. Akihito did not think. He only reacted to the desperate tug in his gut as the target slipped from his viewfinder. 

Dropping his newspaper on the ground, the photographer ran flushed between the men, shoving them apart as if they were two laggards impeding him as he rushed to work. Yoink! Silver fingers, quick from years of pickpocketing, grabbed ahold of the manila envelope and pulled. It was flawless, so smooth that Mr. X did not feel a thing. 

“Watch it!” Taoka snapped. He turned to say something to his partner. Akihito grinned to himself. He did not look back but he was elated. He had managed to steal the dossier without anyone noticing––

“Hey you!” Taoka screamed. “Get back here!”

Shit! Akihito ducked is head and picked his knees up higher, running faster. He could hear the assassins chasing him. People shouted as they were shoved out of the way. A woman stumbled, dropping to her knees when Akihito elbowed his way through her and another man. Seconds later, barely distinguishable above the loud din of the city, he heard the men running over the woman’s paperwork. 

Akihito risked a glance over his shoulder. They were gaining ground. Taoka’s face was beat red and he was huffing. It looked like he was losing steam quickly. Mr. X’s brows were in a straight line; determination fueled his steps. He was a prime assassin and Akihito knew they would not stop until he had the dossier and completed the mission. 

Turning the corner, there was a man selling overpriced souvenirs to gullible tourists. The vendor was a meter from his stand, trying to haggle with a European couple. Perfect. Shouting “Sorry!” Akihito turned over one of his tables. Beads, Noh face masks, and paper fans flew into the air. Akihito did not stop to see the fruit of his handwork. He pivoted on his heel, dodging the screaming salesman, and kept running. Hopefully, the mess would slow them down just enough for him to reach Asami first.

He was only a few blocks from the fixer now. Akihito’s hear pumped loudly. He took in deep gulps of oxygen, but it didn’t feel like it was doing anything. He was terrified and exhausted, and the dossier’s thin sheets began to crumple from the strain of his grip. Just minutes more. 

There! Sion was one right turn away. Akihito’s pupils dilated as he saw Asami’s limo drive by him, a mere three meters away. “Asami!” the breathless utterance tumbled from his lips without him realizing it. 

“Gun!” someone screamed. It was shrill, clawing and Akihito winced. Akihito clutched the dossier closer to his chest, ducking lower even though he did not turn around to see the gun. Mr. X was a trained assassin, who was smuggling a weapon that he was going to use to murder the fixer. They were too close to Sion, too close to Asami. When they rounded the corner, Mr. X would have a clear sightline on the fixer. A bullet would move faster than Akihito ever could, and after that, it would be all over. Asami would be dead, despite Akihito’s best efforts. 

“What are you doing?” Taoka grabbed Mr. X’s arm, forcing it down. He had the gun leveled at the blond’s back, finger squeezing on the trigger. He would shoot the boy without a second thought if it meant he could complete his mission. 

“Get out of my way!” the man snarled, jerking his wrist out of Taoka’s grasp. 

“This wasn’t part of the plan!” Taoka panted as they ran. They were quickly gaining ground on the blond. They would overtake him within seconds. Tsukishiba-sama said nothing about a second target, nor did he specify what was to be done about any interlopers. Eliminating a second man in broad daylight would subvert attention from their original mission, while drawing attention to them. To kill Asami they needed the element of surprise. Firing the gun prematurely would destroy that advantage. 

No. There was no other option, as far as Yang’s man was concerned. Asami would hunker down if the interloper managed to warn him, become inaccessible to all but a select few. The assassin’s perfect record would disintegrate and he would never get a second chance to end the man. He turned the gun on Taoka, briefly stopping to glare at the man. “We do this now. Your choice if you walk away from this.” Mr. X took off running again. The blond had already lengthened the distance between them. Now was time for damage control. 

Taoka did not need to be threatened twice. Running faster than he thought possible, he chased after Mr. X and the blond. Maybe more people would have to die, but he damn sure wasn’t going to be one of the ones in a body bag. 

*

Asami Ryuichi was stepping out of his limo. As usual, Suoh was dropping him off at the front entrance of Sion. Kirishima had opened the limo door for him. It was a brisk morning, with bodies undulating around him like a current. He had a business meeting scheduled first thing. Last minute bribes were suddenly needed to ensure the senate vote that would restrict international trade to certain seaports. 

“Asami!” a voice that haunted his dreams echoed in the morning sunlight. 

The fixer turned, gold eyes squinting as Kirishima took a slight step forward. Asami paid the secretary no mind. Akihito was running full speed towards him, shouting his name in desperation. He waved a crumpled up file in the air. “Asami!” 

Two men were chasing the boy. They rounded the corner shortly after the photographer, both sprinting as fast as they could. Asami’s pupils dilated as the world slipped into slow motion. Akihito ran towards him, arms flailing and shouting his name. A man in a gray suit skidded to a halt, his arms flailing in circles as he tried to slow his momentum. Kirishima was reaching into his suit jacket, going for the glock strapped beneath his arm. 

Asami recognized the second man pursuing Akihito. Nishio Yuu had once been a gun for hire, but when the government betrayed him, sold him out to his enemies, the man fled the country. Rumor had it that he was now working for the Chinese, and Asami had not spared the man a second thought. Until he pulled out a semi-automatic and aimed it at the center of the photographer’s back. 

It was as if he could see the explosion, the flame bursting from the tip of the gun. The .38 Special +P bullet moved so fast that no one could react to the projectile. Asami thought he might have shouted a warning to the photographer, or perhaps he had gone for his gun. When he testified to the court about the events of the morning, he could not remember exactly what happened. It all turned into a blur. But he forgot his gun, forgot that he had back up, forgot that he had a building armed with security specialists and lunged for the photographer. 

The bullet hit skin. Akihito’s feet stumbled, tangling up as pain burst through his arm. The bullet blasted into his arm, disintegrating sinewy muscle and lithe tendon. He screamed as his left hand reached for the crimson blood. But he did not stop running. Kirishima shouted something to the fixer, but Asami could not understand the loud babble. Akihito was running towards him, still clutching the file. 

A second shot rang out. 

People on the crowded street had stilled in surprise. At first they assumed the gunshot was a car back firing. But when there was no echo, when blood splattered on many of the passersby and Akihito still ran from Nishio, they realized that it was not a car. They started to run into the foray, screaming in terror as their mundane lives flashed before their eyes. 

Akihito collided with Asami. The crime lord stutter-stepped backwards because of Akihito’s momentum. His hands were pinned between him and the bleeding boy. He tried to speak, to demand what the hell was going on and get the photographer away from the snarling Nishio. As the second shot rang out, Akihito squeezed his eyes shut and tensed. This one grazed the same arm, but missed Asami. That was when Asami realized that he was falling backwards, towards the ground. Akihito had shoved a file, along with a camera and a tape into his hands. The force of the push sent him to the ground, out of the path of the bullet. 

As he fell, gold eyes locked onto the boy’s face. “He’s trying to kill you,” it looked as if Akihito was shouting in slow motion. Hazel eyes widened as a third shot went over his head. Fuck! Nishio was getting closer. Shaking his head and clutching his arm, Akihito turned sharply. He ran into the crowded street, still bleeding, still terrified. 

The man in the gray suit, Nishio’s accomplice, turned on his heel and ran the opposite direction. Back to his employer to report the failed assassination attempt. Kirishima must have anticipated that Nishio would continue his onslaught. The man was known to be relentless in the pursuit of his target, and now that Asami was locked in his sights, he would not let the crime lord escape. 

Nishio met the fixer’s eyes. Anger flashed as the unremarkable man snarled. Asami dropped the crumpled mess that Akihito had forced into his hands onto the ground to pull his gun from its holster. The crowd was thinning. No one would notice that the reputable business man carried an illegal weapon on his person. Then the assassin did something completely unexpected. 

Shoving his gun back into his suit jacket, into its holster, Nishio darted into the street. Into oncoming traffic. Sliding over the hood of a car, and absorbing the forceful impact, he chased after Akihito. Fear stopped Asami’s heart from beating. 

Suoh was wrapping an arm beneath Asami’s elbow, pulling the fixer to his feet. He was drug almost helplessly into Sion, his silent desperation to follow Akihito ignored as his men searched for any injury. Kirishima was shouting for a doctor to be fetched. Suoh was ripping off his jacket, checking for blood or bullet fragments. Asami’s pristine shirt was now covered in the rich, fragrant blood. Akihito’s blood. 

The photographer had disappeared into the crowd shortly after Asami hit the ground. The jarring impact diverted his attention from the photographer. The shining blond hair had been lost between the cars and the other screaming idiots that ran like chickens without their heads. Asami searched for the boy or for Nishio who had gone off running in the same direction. The bulletproof glass doors slid shut, not obscuring his view of the quickly emptying street. It was for naught, because Akihito was long gone. He had been in Asami’s grasp for the briefest of moments, and for a second time, the photographer had ripped himself from Asami yet again.

*

His shoulder throbbed, the pain pounding his ears. Fucking hell, this hurt more than he remembered. Akihito clutched his bleeding arm. The blood seeped through his fingers, squelching loudly as he ran. It didn’t help that his pounding heartbeat forced the blood out quicker, so it ran down his arm and trailed on the sidewalk behind him. He hadn’t passed out yet, hadn’t lost so much blood that he could not walk, which meant that Mr. X must not have hit an artery. 

The photographer realized when the second shot grazed his arm that Mr. X intended to kill him as well as Asami. Akihito managed to warn Asami before the assassins could strike. preempting any scheme. Now that Asami knew about the danger, he would take every precaution and eliminate the threat before it could end him. Mr. X had lost his chance to kill the fixer, and as the second shot sliced through his arm, Akihito knew that the assassin would kill him as recompense. Revenge for fucking up his murder for higher. 

So he ran. Akihito let his feet carry him, mindlessly running. If Mr. X was following him, he needed to get out of Shinjuku fast, to somewhere familiar that would take Mr. X out of his comfort zone. He could tell that his footsteps were getting slower, not sluggish but his feet were starting to feel heavy. Akihito did not think, just ran. Mind and body numbing as the pain clouded his vision, the photographer thought of nothing but putting one foot in front of the other. He needed to keep moving. 

Just keep moving. 

Move…

Mr. X must have gone into stealth mode behind him. At first, Akihito could sense the man stalking him like a predator in an urban jungle, dodging behind food stands and worker bees on their way to the hive. When he checked over his shoulder, Mr. X was nowhere to be found. He might have been adept at hiding in plain sight, but there was no way he could have circled around the photographer to ambush him, mostly because Akihito did not know where he was going. 

Hope flared in his chest. He might have lost the assassin in the swirling masses. Too many faces that blended together provided the perfect cover, and though Akihito’s signature hair seemed to glow in the morning light, his short height meant it was hidden by the broad shoulders of other men. He was literally lost in the crowd. Mr. X could very well have given up chase in order to pursue Akihito another way. 

He would find Akihito, that much was sure. Mr. X was a trained assassin and if the movies were right, he had an unfair access to obscure databases that could locate anyone. Also, it was common knowledge within the underworld that he had once been Asami’s pet. Akihito knew that he had distinctive features, and coupled with the fact that he just saved the fixer’s life, it would be easier for Mr. X to deduce who he was. After that—the photographer winced as his foot hit the ground with ungainly force, sending shockwaves of pain throughout his body––after that, finding his home would be a piece of cake.

Kenzou!

Shit, he lived with Kenzou. His boyfriend did not deserve to have death knock on his front door when he had no clue about Asami or the life Akihito used to lead. The blood was slowing, coagulating between his sticky fingers. Strength surged through his body, lifting his knees and moving his feet. Akihito might not love Kenzou, but he owed it to the man warn him. To get him out of the apartment before Mr. X showed up, and keep him far away from Akihito. 

Far away from danger. 

His body seemed to know where he was going long before his brain did because ten minutes later, Akihito was outside his building. Shoving the heavy door open was painful, but he stumbled inside the dark foyer. It was not a ritzy building like the one Asami lived in. There was no doorman, no grand lobby or reception desk. It was a poorly lit foyer with a dirty doormat and metal mailboxes underneath the stairs. No one saw him staggering up the stairs to the fourth floor. He had to blink to focus his eyes, and to dissipate the swirling fog that hedged on the edge of his vision.

Little blood droplets trailed behind him, hitting every third or fourth step. The old stairs creaked from his uneven weight. He tottered side to side, unstable on shaky legs. It felt like it took him an hour to reach the apartment, when it was only fifteen minutes. His shoulder slammed into the door, jarring his tender body. He had fallen on his uninjured side, though it did nothing to ease the pain in his arm. Worse, his keys were still his right pocket. Left arm wrapping around his stomach, Akihito tried to grab the key ring with the tips of his fingers. 

He heard the door’s lock click and barely was able to shift his weight back over his feet before the front door swung open. Kenzou stood on the other side, mouth hanging open. He was dressed in a pressed suit, his eyes red and swollen but his tie perfect. The man had spent the night crying, correctly assuming that Akihito was not coming back. 

“Akihito!” his ex-boyfriend cried. 

He reached for the photographer, but the blond waved him off with his good hand. “You’ve got to get out of here!” 

Kenzou looked aghast at Akihito’s bloody sleeve, his protuberant eyes and ashen cheeks. “What’s going on?” his head shook, looking up and down the hall in disbelief as Akihito bled in front of him. “What happened? Oh my god, you’re bleeding!”

“Listen, Kenzou,” Akihito took deep breaths, trying to calm his heart enough to allow him to speak coherently. He had not expected the marketing analyst to still be home. It was nearly nine, the time when Kenzou was due in the office. “You need to get out of here!”

“Get inside! I’ll call an ambulance!” Kenzou paid him no mind. He reached for the photographer, to pull him into the safety of their home. 

Akihito sprung back, shaking his head. “No! You need to get out of town! Go spend a few days at your brother’s or something. Just get out of town!” 

Kenzou could not believe his ears. “What are you talking about? Why didn’t you come last night? Why are you bleeding?!?” he all but screamed at the blond. 

That reminded Akihito that his shoulder was throbbing. The world was going hazy. Kenzou was still in focus, but the apartment behind him swirled like fog. He felt like he was going to pass out or vomit. Maybe both. He swallowed in an attempt to prevent his stomach from churning. “I stopped an assassination,” he gasped out. “They were going to kill him––and I––I stopped––“

He doubled over in pain. Kenzou tried to catch him, but Akihito managed to stay on his own two feet. He shook his head at his boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. At whatever the fuck Kenzou was. “We need to call the police––“

“No!” Kenzou balked at Akihito’s shout. He kept shaking his head. “He’s coming––here––he knows,” he gasped loudly. “You need to get out of here!”

Asami would handle this internally. There would be no cops, no formal investigation, no innocent until proven guilty. He would find Yang, Tsukishiba, Taoka, Mr. X––anyone involved, and he would avenge himself tenfold. Akihito would be dead by the time that happened, but he could get Kenzou away before Mr. X showed up. He was counting on Asami to be his usually punctual self, and to find Mr. X by the end of the day. Kenzou could run for that long. Right? 

Kenzou could get away. 

“Akihito,” Kenzou sounded frustrated, but Akihito did not have the strength to look up to see his expression. “If you wanted to break up, you should have just said so.”

What? No! That wasn’t it. Akihito took in a sudden, seizing gasp. Fuck, his arm went from numb to a searing pain, as if the right side of his body had been lit on fire. It made it impossible for him to concentrate on what the marketing analyst was saying. Just because he didn’t want to be with Kenzou any more did not mean that he was making the whole thing up! Kenzou’s polished shoes turned towards the stairs. He paused, as if trying to figure out if Akihito was telling the truth or if this was all an elaborate charade. 

Maybe a charade would be easier to bear than the truth. Kenzou lived in a sheltered world; he did not like to think of mortality and blood made him queasy. He certainly would leave quicker if he thought Akihito was lying. Nailing the coffin lid down, Akihito forced himself to stand up. He willed his eyes to glare at Kenzou, as he snarled. “Just don’t fucking call the police.” He could not stop the pain filled grimace that contorted his cherubic face. 

Kenzou rolled his big eyes. Akihito could see the tears that welled up in them. “You’re a real dick,” he hissed. He walked as quickly as decorum would permit, needing to get some distance between them. He refused to let Akihito see him cry, to see how devastated he was by the photographer’s callous break up shenanigans. He had known that they were having problems, Akihito had been withdrawn and antisocial for several months. If he mentioned it to Kou or Takato, the two would share a look and then tell him he was worrying about nothing. 

Kenzou thought that Akihito had respected him enough break up with him to his face rather than go throw the configured hoax. But he had known that his boyfriend was dramatic and not necessarily the brightest bulb in the box. Akihito could have been afraid that Kenzou would have argued with him. And he would have. Kenzou would have tried anything to salvage the relationship before Akihito pulled that stupid stunt. Now, Kenzou never wanted to see that lying jackass again. 

He nearly slammed the door into a man when he thrust it open. “Sorry,” he mumbled, stepping aside to let the flustered man in. The man, dressed in a dark suit with a dark tie, nodded. He immediately walked over to the mailboxes, reading them line by line. Kenzou did not care if the smarmy looking guy couldn’t find his mailbox. Slamming the door shut with such veracity that the hinges rattled, the newly single marketing analyst made the long trek to work. He would be late, and the way his day started off, it was going to be a shitty one. 

As long as he never saw Takaba Akihito again, he would be satisfied. 

*

Akihito snorted. He did not watch Kenzou leave. The moment he heard the man start walking down the decrepit stairs, he launched himself into the open apartment. His vision was blacking out, but he knew that he needed to get inside. He could pass out on his own floor, die of blood loss in his home. It would be less painful than if Mr. X got to him first. He army-crawled far enough into the living room, until he was barely able to kick the door shut. 

A shiny loafer jammed between the swinging door and the frame. No! Akihito groaned, rolling onto his back. No, please no. So slowly that the door’s creak sounded like a caterwaul, the front door opened. Akihito squeezed his eyes shut, fresh tears falling down his cheeks. He heard the floor give slightly when someone walked into the room. The telltale rasp of the floorboards only meant one thing. When he finally forced his eyes open, Akihito stared up at Mr. X, who in turn looked at him almost disinterestedly. As if murder was something he took with his morning coffee. 

It was not the man’s cool stare that terrified Akihito, nor was it the fact that he was going to slaughter Asami when he was finished with the photographer. It was the thin knife that he grasp so lackadaisically, barely wrapping his fingers around its hilt. Akihito’s life flashed before his eyes when the thin blade glinted in the sunlight. Nishio might not have been able to get to Asami before the parliament meeting, but he would get his revenge on the photographer who thwarted him. 

He could live with that until he got his hands around Asami Ryuichi’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your outpouring of affection and your support. I love each and every one of you. You all mean the world to me, and your unwavering support touches my heart. I sound sappy, but I’m drinking wine and listening to romantic musics. So I’m in a sappy mood. 
> 
> One more chapter to go! Maybe an epilogue. I haven’t decided yet. It’s almost Friday!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing but the situations. Even then, it's tenuous at best haha. Thanks to Miyanoai for beta-ing this!

Chapter Three:

It was surreal, being dragged into his own building like a doll. The scene began to replay like a movie before his eyes: Akihito running, a terror that the fixer had never before witnessed clouded his eyes. Akihito had been as pale as a ghost, frantic. He pushed Asami down with the strength of a possessed man, and left behind useless trinkets. 

Suoh was ripping his jacket off, searching for the source of the blood. Not that he would find it, for it had gone running off along with Akihito. Kirishima was screaming––screaming––for a doctor. Asami did not even realize that he was fighting his men until Suoh tore his jacket’s sleeve. Only then did he go slack. Asami never tore his gaze from the street. Sirens echoed in the distance. Some bystander had called the police, who now rushed to help or hinder him. Most likely, the bumbling cops would be in the way. 

Nishio had disappeared into the crowd after Akihito. There had been feral glint in his eyes when he locked gazes with Asami. The fixer had never hired the assassin for a hit, though the man’s infamy was applauded in the underworld. He did know that he was thorough and persistent, eliminating any threat encountered during his mission. Asami knew that eventually Nishio would return, armed to the teeth. 

The remaining question was how Akihito fit into all of this. Obviously the assassins, for there had been two, had not planned on the photographer’s interference. They shot at him in the middle of the morning commute, which meant he was expendable and if Nishio was as the rumors said, he would target Akihito. 

The fixer snapped his bulbous fingers at a loitering guard who had the sense to the collect the items from the sidewalk. It was his doorman, whose face was bloodless as his hands shook. He tenderly cradled the tape recorder, as well as the manila file. Asami knew what was in the bent envelope: the credentials of the hit. Akihito’s tape recorder and camera were infinitely more important. Asami knew within the depths of his soul that Akihito had stumbled on the information, and rather than warn him or go to the police, tried to intervene. To stop the hit and save Asami’s life. His doorman held the proof in his quivering hands. 

“Give me the tape recorder,” he finally found his voice, shoving Suoh away. “And get the limo.”

“You mean to chase after him?” Suoh asked, though he did not hesitate to hand his boss a bullet proof vest. One of his security guards had been wearing it but offered it immediately. 

“He’s going after Akihito,” Asami slipped on the vest. It did not matter that Asami had not held the boy in two years, that Akihito had taken another lover and that it was Akihito, not Asami that ended their relationship. His boy, now a man, was in need. The man who dared to risk his own life to save Asami’s was in danger and the fixer would rather die than let Akihito lay down his life. The photographer was already shot, possibly bleeding to death. 

Asami was determined to get to him before Nishio could. 

Neither Kirishima nor Suoh argued with him. His eyes glinted with hellfire, and his mouth was drawn tight into a firm line. However, they were also fond of the photographer and neither wanted undue harm to come to him. Suoh barked out orders to his men. A security team would need to accompany them, lest Nishio have back up waiting. Kirishima, having given up on a doctor making it in time, was examining the fixer for injuries. Finally satisfied in a way that only a mother hen could be, he set to helping Asami put on his Kevlar vest before strapping on his own. 

The imminent danger was passed, but the threatening thundercloud loomed overhead. They knew that they needed to get away from Sion, start chasing Akihito and Nishio before the authorities arrived. The red tape would take hours to sift through, and that was time that Akihito did not have. Kirishima walked beside as he all but ran out the front door, Suoh on his heels. The security detail could join them when they found Akihito. Asami was not going to sit by idly, waiting for information when he could track down the target that escaped him two years ago. 

As he slid into the limo, Kirishima sitting across from him and the partition down so that Suoh could hear, Asami hit the play button. The recorder played with high definition clarity, not missing a moment of the plot. Asami’s eyes flashed. He would kill Yang and Tsukishiba slowly. Painfully. Excruciatingly. Hands twitching in anticipation, the fixer reached into his holster for his gun. He knew that it was prepped, ready to be fired at any moment. A bullet would end their lives today, not his. 

*

Akihito’s chest rapidly rose and fell as he struggled to breathe. Blood trailed sloppily from his arm, which was not a through and through shot like he had hoped, as it drug uselessly on the floor. He tried to crawl away, using his legs and one good arm. Mr. X shut the door with the same detached calm that he pursued Akihito with. He let Akihito struggle to defend himself. It made the kill sweeter, made the blood warmer and made the boy’s adrenaline spike. Nishio preferred his kills to have a fighting chance, but the moment he pulled the trigger in front of Sion, he had known that this meddlesome journalist would die before nine o’clock. 

“No,” Akihito croaked out. Darkness tugged at the corners of his eyes. Minutes more and he would slip into painless unconsciousness. He just had to stay away from that knife until then. “Please,” his watery voice mixed his pain and tears. 

Mr. X clicked his tongue. “You know that I have to punish you for that little stunt you pulled with Asami. You ruined some carefully thought out plans. My employer will want a pound of flesh, and it won’t be coming from me.”

“Yang,” Akihito wheezed. “You mean Yang.”

Mr. X’s eyes narrowed. He suddenly gripped the knife tighter and the tension in the room suddenly electrified, crackling like lightening. “You know more than I thought you did,” he admitted with a snarl. Akihito thought that assassins were supposed to be calm and not let jabs get to them. Mr. X glowered, obviously irked that Akihito knew for whom he was working. Akihito grunted as he tried to drag himself farther from the advancing man. He knew that he was digging his own grave, but Akihito could not stop himself from taunting the man. 

“Yeah,” he used his left elbow to pull him father away from Mr. X. “I know all about Yang and Tsukishiba.” A sudden wave of nausea swept over him, and before Akihito could tell Mr. X that Asami knew too, he was rolling to his side, choking back bile. 

Mr. X stopped walking, not expecting Akihito to seize up into a ball. He watched as the blond’s body shook, his teeth chattering and his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Akihito spasmed, the pain of his busted up shoulder melding into the blistering pain as every muscle in his body contracted. The assassin watched the blond writhe in pain, nonplussed about his mind shattering pain. 

Body shaking, Akihito wrenched his eyes open. He tried to calm his stuttering breath, blinking to focus his vision. Mr. X said something scathing but the photographer could not hear him over the blood pounding behind his ears. Shit. He was going to throw up. His last act on this earth was going to be upchucking on his murderer’s feet. What a way to go. 

“You’re really going to do it, aren’t you?” Nishio sneered, rolling Akihito over onto his back with the tip of his shoe. “You’re going to die before I’ve even gotten started.”

Akihito rolled back onto his side. He had a snappy comeback all ready, wanting to get in one last quip before his demise. He settled for a nod as he curled up into a ball. Yeah, that would show him. 

Mr. X sighed, as if he was let down by Akihito’s life slipping away. He knelt down as the photographer rolled onto his stomach. Akihito’s arms were pinned underneath him, useless as far as the assassin was concerned. He would let the blond collect himself before he slit his throat, as a professional courtesy. It was the least he could do. 

Hopefully Asami would arrive before he killed the kid. It would be a shame for the man to miss the show. 

*

Kirishima insisted on listening to the tape several times as they drove through the chaotic Shinjuku traffic. Asami thrummed his fingers on his bouncing knee. Once, he mistakenly thought he saw Nishio running through the crowd and he was half way out of the limo before Kirishima was pulling him back in. “Asami-sama!” the secretary fought to restrain him. “You need to stay calm!”

“Akihito has been shot––“ Asami snapped. 

“And we are going to find him,” Kirishima said slowly, hands up to calm the frenzied fixer. “An injured animal always goes to ground when wounded. Even if Nishio is pursuing him, Takaba will go back home!” The crime lord was quickly become frantic, waving his arms wildly as he shouted. 

Asami knew that he should have put a tail on Akihito the moment he left their penthouse. He could have put a stop to this years ago, when Akihito first left. But that would have crushed Akihito’s free spirit, killed the very thing that Asami wanted to protect. He would never destroy the thing he loved the most. 

Pulling his phone out, Asami pushed two quick buttons and as the phone started to ring, he pressed it to his ear. “Asami-san,” a crisp, feminine voice answered. Yoko did not seem upset that he called her personal number after having not spoken to her since that wreck of a night six months ago. 

Asami was brusque. He did not have time to fake pleasantries, and he sensed that Suoh’s new girlfriend would not mind him cutting straight to the chase. “I need you to tell me where your employee Fujioma Kenzou lives.”

*

Akihito came to because of a persistent ringing. It was a familiar sound, but one that he did not usually associate with his living room. 

“Hello?” Mr. X answered his cellphone. The tip of his knife pressed into the tip of his sternum, not hard enough to break the skin, but the pressure was enough to keep Akihito immobile. 

“Where are you?” Akihito heard Taoka’s static-filled voice echo through the speaker. He sounded infuriated. 

Mr. X shrugged, pushing the knife just a little bit harder against the hard bone of Akihito’s chest. “I’m at the kid’s apartment, waiting for him to regain consciousness.”

“The kid?” Taoka repeated. “You mean the one who warned Asami?”

“The one and the same,” confirmed Mr. X. He glanced at Akihito, who lay as still as possible, his eyes closed. 

“Excellent!” Taoka triumphantly exclaimed. “I’m with Tsukishiba-sama now. Dispose of the brat and rendezvous back at the consulate. We’re planning an assault on Sion.”

“No can do,” Mr. X stood up. He walked a few faces away from the photographer, who played possum. “We’re gonna wait right here.”

“Wait? Nishio, what the hell are you talking about?” Taoka’s voice raised several decibels. “Kill him and get rid of the evidence!”

“No,” the assassin––Yang’s Mr. X––Nishio’s voice was so hard and rigid that it chilled Akihito to the bone. 

“Nishio––“

Nishio disconnected the call. Dropping his hand to his side, he turned back to the supine photographer. “I know you’re awake, kid. You’re breathing pattern changed.”

Akihito was lying face up now, staring up at the stupid popcorn ceiling. He was going to die and the last thing he would ever get to see was going to be that fucking ceiling. The photographer dropped his head to the side to look at Nishio’s face. He glared at the man, but something else caught his attention: the assassin was covered in blood. 

Akihito’s blood. 

Akihito who had lost all sensation in his body, who could barely find the strength to speak let alone move to defend himself. Looking down at his arm, Akihito also realized that he was dry. He no longer laid in a pool of fresh blood, and his soaked shirt had been cut off by a sharp knife. He lay on the floor in his jeans, his shoulder packed and bandaged. The little blood that still flowed from his wound was staunched, and would soon clot because of the firm pressure the bandages applied. 

“You helped me,” it felt like his tongue was swollen and his cheeks were stuffed with cotton balls. 

Nishio nodded. “Can’t have you dying on me before Asami gets here.”

“Asami?” Akihito blinked his eyes, “No.” He groaned, trying to clear his vision. “Asami won’t come.” He had not spoken to Asami in years. The last time he even saw the fixer outside of that morning was at the hole in the wall bar. That night ended in disaster. 

“Don’t kid yourself,” Nishio sneered. He walked back over to Akihito’s side to stare down at the boy. “I did a little digging on you while I was trying to find your address. I know who you are, who you were.” 

Akihito wheezed loudly. He kept his body still, relaxed, as if he had lost too much blood and now moved sluggishly. His brain started to whiz though, as he processed the implications of Nishio’s words. The man was going to lay in wait for Asami to arrive, and complete his contract. “Just a reporter,” he gasped forcefully, maybe overacting just a smidgen, but the smirk on Nishio’s face made Akihito believe that he was buying the act. 

“Not just a reporter,” Nishio replied. “You are his pet. I heard the rumors about you, years ago. We all did. I never thought that you would be so stupid, or that he would let you act so recklessly. He’s supposed to be intelligent.” It was never his intent to kill Akihito. The photographer misinterpreted the situation entirely. He was little more than bait, injured to make his situation more tenuous. Nishio must have known the moment that Akihito stole the dossier that he would not be able to assassinate Asami in front of Sion, and quickly developed a plan B. Said plan required the photographer to flee, fearing for his life, and Akihito had played right into his hands. 

But Akihito had not run because he was afraid for his life. Yes, he feared the icy grasp of death, but in that precarious moment on the sidewalk, it was not his own life that flashed before his eyes but Asami’s. He realized then that Nishio could not kill both him and Asami if they were far apart. So he ran, hoping to draw the assassin away from Asami. Instead, Akihito brought Asami to death incarnate. 

“Look, buddy,” Akihito used his left arm to swat Nishio’s hand away from his face. The assassin rolled his eyes, but stopped invading the photographer’s personal space. “Your––gasp––information–––info,” he panted dramatically. “It’s old. I haven’t been Asami’s in years.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Nishio shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. But I know Asami better than he thinks I do. He’ll come for you. I know it. And I’ll be waiting for him right here.” He pointed to the carpeted floor with his gleaming knife. 

The stairs outside creaked. Akihito’s heart stopped beating, and breathing became impossible. Nishio cocked his ear to listen while turning around, his back to Akihito. His grip on the knife tightened. He was a coiled snake, ready to strike at the first thing that moved. So softly that Akihito would not have heard it had he not been straining to hear it, footsteps quickly padded down the narrow hallway. Asami had arrived at last, his men ready for to go down in a blaze of glory. 

“Asami!” Akihito tried to warn the fixer. 

Nishio turned around, dark eyes blazing. Clicking his tongue, the assassin quickly jerked his tie off. Stuffing his pocket square into Akihito’s gnashing mouth, he cinched the silk tie around the photographer’s head. “Can’t have you warning Asami that I’m here,” he whispered conspiratorially. He jerked hard on the slick knot, which ripped out the long strands of Akihito’s hair that had become snagged. Fuck, that hurt!

Akihito glared at the assassin who stood once more. Nishio slunk the door. The lock clicked open and the doorknob turned. Knife raised, he tensed, ready to slaughter the first man in the door. 

*

Yoko had not asked him any questions, and found Kenzou’s residence within seconds. Minutes later, less than ten, Asami had men queuing down the hallway. Akihito was locked inside unit 308, and from the surreal quiet the permeated the dilapidated building, Asami hoped that Nishio had not reached the blond yet. 

He leaned against the doorframe, and drew a steadying breath. Kirishima and Suoh were on either side of him. Suoh would break the door down, and Kirishima would lead the charge. Asami would follow in, ready to shoot at anything that was not Akihito. Kenzou included. 

“Asami!” a lilting voice gasped as softly as the beat of a butterfly’s wing. His blood went cold. Akihito. The boy was miraculously conscious, still breathing, and he thought of Asami. Affection surged in the fixer, and as he was about to give the order to Suoh, he froze. He could hear someone walking quickly in the apartment, Akihito grunting pain. 

In that moment, Asami Ryuichi felt true terror as he realized the horrible truth. Nishio was in the apartment with Akihito. Visions of the assassin slitting the boy open, flaying skin from muscle and pulling out Akihito’s blue veins filled his mind. He could not see Kirishima shaking his head no, did not feel Suoh’s restraining hand on his shoulder. Fear and anger smothered his judgment, and drawing his body back, the enraged fixer kicked the door down. He would kill Nishio for daring to touch one hair on Akihito’s head. 

“No!” Suoh’s massive body shoved Asami out of the way as the men tumbled gracelessly into the tiny apartment. Asami fell to the ground, jarring his knees as Suoh’s body shielded him. 

A long knife glinted as it flew through the air, swishing like a katana. Suoh snarled, an injured wolf ready to kill the beast that threatened his pack. Asami jerked his gun upwards, trying to shoot Nishio without further injuring Suoh. The knife had slicked open the bodyguard’s shoulder, cutting deep. Suoh swung it like a club. He had lost much mobility in the hand as the crimson blood splattered around the makeshift genkan like a scene from a horror movie. 

“Nyuaggghhh!” Akihito lunged at the man. 

The photographer used the end table to pull himself upright while Nishio waited to bombard Asami. Grabbing the heavy lamp, he screamed through the pain as he charged the assassin. Nishio barely had time to look at the roaring blond before the lamp hit his head. The shade torn, and the bulb shattered. Blood splattered all over his face and shoulder, drenching him. Akihito grimaced, eyes squeezing shut as he shrieked. Nishio fell to his knees, but Akihito did not stop his onslaught. 

Throwing himself onto the man, he kept smashing the lamp onto the man’s head and neck. Parts of the ceramic chipped away, the rent shade disintegrated and still Akihito’s blows rained down. Pain burst from his arm, making it impossible for him to grip the lamp with both hands so Akihito let it drop the side.

“Akihito!” Asami struggled to throw Suoh off of him. 

The lamp slipped through his sweating, bloody fingers to clatter on the floor. The front door shattered as Kirishima thrust through it, desperate to get to the downed Asami and Suoh. Guards streamed in behind him, guns drawn, all shouting. Blood had splattered everywhere. It dripped down Akihito’s cheek like tears, running over his lips and dripping into his mouth.

“I’ve got you,” Kirishima stepped over the tangled bodies of Suoh and Asami to put his hands on either side of Akihito’s shoulders. He helped the photographer to his feet, trying to keep his shaking legs beneath him while not putting any pressure on his shoulder. 

The blond’s chest heaved, his body quaking. Oh fuck. Nishio lay still beneath him. It did not look like he was moving or breathing. Akihito looked down, feeling excruciating pain. His hands were shaking and his vision swam. He was going to be sick. 

“Akihito!” Asami was there, cupping his face as Kirishima dissolved into the background to tend to Suoh. 

His breath was staccato, his shoulders hunched. Akihito could not take his eyes off the still man, even when Asami pulled him into another room. “You’re bleeding,” the fixer’s gaze was narrowed. Grabbing a dishtowel, he pressed it onto the blood soaked bandages. Akihito finally tore his gaze away from the body to look humbly at his throbbing shoulder. He hissed through gritted teeth as Asami pressed firmly on the wound.

“You need to get to a hospital,” Asami muttered. “You’ve lost too much blood.” There was a deep set line between his tightly drawn eyebrows. Akihito wanted to trace a finger over it, but his knees wobbled and his legs collapsed. Adrenaline seeping from his body along with his blood, the photographer succumbed to the blackness that kept trying to swallow him. The last thing he heard was Asami screaming his name and the faceless goons start to loom over him. 

*

A warm hand was holding his. It was calloused, heavy and strong. Though used to coming to with a mind foggy by the pain meds, Akihito’s head was surprisingly clear. He did not open his eyes yet. It was more comfortingly to lay in the darkness. When he opened his eyes, he would have to deal with the fallout of the past twenty-four hours. Kenzou would be gone. Asami would be alive and perhaps sitting beside him, waiting for him to wake up. 

He was not ready to deal with that yet. 

So much had happened, so much emotion had roiled inside of him, a time bomb conflagration, and he had not processed an ounce of it. His thoughts had driven him to save Asami, not decide if he forgave the man for his rape and subsequent abuse. Feilong had changed the nature of their relationship, but in those first few months, Akihito had been little more than a prisoner. And after Hong Kong, he had become a pet, just like Nishio said. 

“Akihito?” a voice called to him from the darkness. “Man, are you awake?” 

That was not Asami’s voice…

Akihito jerked his eyes open. The white lights of the hospital were blinding, and he grunted from the sudden pain. He blinked so that his eyes could adjust and finally he turned to look at the person sitting beside him. Kou sat beside him, holding his hand, waiting for him to wake up. “Aki!” a jubilant smile sliced open his face. The brunet grinned from ear to ear, squeezing and shaking Akihito’s left hand. “You’re awake! Fucking shit, dude! You’re awake!”

Akihito pretended that he was not disappointed to see that it was Kou waiting for him. “Hey,” his voice was brittle. He tried to lick his lips, to put moisture back in the chapped skin, but his tongue was too dry. “You’re here.” 

“I’m your emergency contact,” Kou answered a question that Akihito had not even thought to ask. “So when they brought you in, a nurse called me.” He must have been really worried if he did not mention that the nurse was hot. Akihito frowned a little. His friend had blue bags beneath his eyes and his hair was unkempt. He shook with physical relief that Akihito was awake. 

“You lost a lot of blood,” Kou rambled on. He was talking just to say something, to distract Akihito from the tender pain in his shoulder. The brunet must have been nervous to talk so quickly. “The doctors weren’t sure you would wake up. You had three transfusions, and they weren’t really sure if you would make it. It was touch and go for a while.”

Akihito had flatlined twice. Kou remembered standing behind the clear Plexiglas, watching the doctors covered in white and aqua scrubs, their faces hidden by cotton masks, scramble frantically around Akihito’s bed. His entire body rattled, bucking off the bed when they zapped him hard. Never had the word clear scared Kou so much, and never had electricity seemed so important. The current was not going to end a life, but save one. 

Akihito grimaced, and not from the pain. He squeezed Kou’s hand, stilling him as he started to call for a nurse. “What happened?” Where was Asami? Why had the fixer not come with him? He wanted to ask all of those questions, but could not. Maybe Kou could fill in the blanks. 

“A bunch of politicians were trying to kill Asami,” Kou said slowly, unsurely, suddenly afraid that Akihito might not remember anything. “You stopped them, Aki,” he squeezed his friend’s hand with pride. His grin widened. “You saved his life.”

“I know that,” Akihito did not mean to snap, but the pain in his shoulder was mixing with the ambiguity of the afternoon, and he was getting irritated. “What day is it?” 

“It’s the same day,” Kou slowly replied. He glanced around, looking for reinforcements to help keep Akihito calm. “Just really late at night. Almost midnight.”

Akihito sagged into his thin pillow. “How did I get here?” He had thought that Asami would bring him, but with the fixer’s absence filling his peripheral vision, Akihito was not so sure. 

“Asami called you an ambulance. The police have been here, too,” Kou rushed on before he forgot the details. “They want to talk to you about it all. To get your side of the story, I guess. Asami turned over all the evidence that you gave him, so I don’t really know what they need from you.”

Akihito’s forehead crinkled. “Why are the police involved?”

“Well there was a shootout on the sidewalk, and then you made a lot of noise when that guy cornered you in your apartment,” the brunet looked at his friend like he was crazy. “People tend to let the cops know when crap like that happens.”

Akihito sighed, “Oh.” So Asami called him an ambulance. Akihito figured that he would want to handle Tsukishiba and Yang himself. Akihito had been far from discreet when he charged the fixer that morning, which forced Nishio to open fire in front of Sion. Now there was no way that Asami could take either politician out quietly; it would have to be a very public and time consuming investigation followed by a trial. Not Asami’s ideal way to handle the situation. 

“Kenzou called, but he hasn’t been by. He said that he wasn’t sure that you would want him here,” his best friend offered quietly. He ducked his head, not meeting Akihito’s eyes. “He told me what happened and he feels awful.”

Akihito closed his eyes. That was the last thing that he wanted to talk about, because he wasn’t sorry that things had ended with the marketing analyst. It was not the clean split that he had envisioned, but they were done and that was enough for the photographer. 

The door opened and Akihito looked to the new figure entering almost lackadaisically. Asami froze, golden eyes widening almost imperceptibly. His large hand clutched the doorknob so tightly that his knuckles turned white and then Akihito’s name slipped from between his lips, sounding like a reverent prayer to a saint. “Akihito…”

Takaba’s heart beat so rapidly against his ribs that it hurt, that his heart might have been bruised from the force. His grip on Kou’s hand tightened. Any anger, any doubt that he had about Asami dissipated at the mere sight of the man, and his anguished face. In that moment, Akihito was so thrilled to see the fixer looking back at him that he could have forgiven any sin. 

“Asami!” Akihito shoved himself up and immediately fell backwards, his arm collapsing. Pain shot through his body. 

“Akihito!” Asami shouted.

His back had barely hit the soft bed before strong arms were wrapping around him, lifting him up. Asami loomed over him, concern wrinkling his face. The pad of his thumb wiped the lone tear on the photographer’s cheek, and with that tender movement, that uncharacteristic gesture of tenderness, the dam inside Akihito broke. Pain meaningless, he threw his arms around Asami and held the man tightly. He was crying, his hot tears saltily staining Asami’s crisp shirt but he did not care. 

Asami’s arms tightened around him, as one hand slid through his blond hair to cup the back of his head tenderly. Kou said something about giving them some privacy, but neither man acknowledged him. They held each other in the hospital bed, clinging to each other, afraid for the first time that this struggling love might be ripped from them once more. 

“You little fool,” Asami whispered as he pressed featherlight kisses into Akihito’s hair. “You were so stupid. You could have died.”

Akihito’s fingers dug into Asami’s back, “So could have you.”

The fixer clutched the boy even tighter. “You little fool,” he repeated. The words were tender and adoring. There was respect as well as an awed reprimand laced through them as Asami repeated them over and over again.

“Where were you?” Akihito finally pulled. “Why weren’t you here when––?” his voice broke off. 

“When you woke up?” Asami finished for him. He did not let the photographer go lest he suddenly disappear again, but sat on the bed next to hm. “The Chinese president called.” The man had been pompous at first, but the blustering faded quickly when Asami seemed doubtful that he was not a part of the assassination plot. 

“Sounds important,” Akihito tried to crack a smile but it came off looking more like a scowl.

Asami chuckled. “It was nothing I didn’t know already. Akihito…” his face turned solemn. Akihito thought his body would have braced itself, that dread would have pooled in his gut and that breathing would suddenly have become almost impossible. The boy that he used to be would have thought that Asami was going to end things because Akihito had made a mistake. Now, he was too tired to get emotional and Asami’s anger was no longer something to fear. Death was terrifying, not a temper. 

Asami saw the photographer shift. His shoulders dropped, sagging from exhaustion as his head nodded off to the left. The blond was at the brink of exhaustion. The fixer sighed. If it had been any other day, Akihito would have been in turmoil, but since the day had been so tumultuous, he was no longer capable of extreme emotion. Leaning into his arms, Akihito’s eyes shone as he looked at the man. 

“I’m sorry,” Asami’s thumb caressed the curve of his cheek. “So sorry.” 

Akihito grabbed the man’s wrist. Licking his lips, he smiled weakly. “Me too.”

He could have left it at that. They had apologized, without dredging up the past. Let it stayed buried, let it stay forgotten. However, that would have been the coward’s way out, and after everything Akihito had risked on his behalf, Asami owed him a blank slate. “You misunderstand me,” he kept stroking Akihito’s face. It kept him immobile, and in his arms for a little while longer. “Not just for today, but for everything. 

“When––” he took a deep breath, “When I first found you, I had no idea of the relationship that would develop between us, or how much I would come to care for you. I raped you and abused you, and when you left, I had no one to blame but myself. I drove you to Fujioma. What I did to you was inexcusable, inhumane and,” he stopped suddenly. Akihito’s hazel eyes flickered up to meet gold ones, and Asami held his gaze. The fixer held the blond’s eyes until he was certain that he was listening. “I am sorry for all of it.”

If he had tears to shed, he would have. But Akihito was too emotionally drained to cry, so he smiled instead at the man. His grip on the fixer’s wrist tightened as he said. “I forgave you for it all a long time ago.” 

Asami tried to ignore the lump in his throat. “Akihito––“ he choked out. 

The photographer shook his head. “Let’s not talk about it anymore. Okay?”

The last vestiges of the cruel man that Akihito met six years ago shattered. Holding him against his chest, Asami pressed light kisses into his hair. “As you wish,” he promised. 

Akihito clung to Asami, burying his face into the man’s massive chest. “Good. Maybe you’ll actually listen to me for once.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta dah! And our boys are together again! The epilogue is next, and a special credit to Miyanoai for convincing me to write one! Thank you for all of your support through this series. It means the world to me, and I hope that you have enjoyed it as much as I have :)


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey my lovelies! Long time no see! Sorry for the wait, but here is the lat chapter! A special thanks to the wonderful Miyanoai. This chapter is still in the process of being beta'd, but Miyanoai is at a con this weekend, and that's where attention needs to be there. Seriously girl, thanks for all you do! I appreciate you more than you know, because these stories would be a lot worse without you.

Epilogue:

Akihito’s hospital stay was a long, drawn out week. His doctor was professional and the nursers were kind, but he felt restless. It felt like they checked his vitals constantly, and he really would have killed for some pain meds. Two of his ribs had been broken when they resuscitated him. They were taped up tightly, but the pressure did not stop the soreness in his chest. It hurt to move. 

Asami had been there every day. At first, he brought work and sat with Kirishima doing paperwork. By day three, he was sitting next to Akihito, silently holding his hand. By day five, they were talking about everything and watching zombie movie marathons on the television. Kou stopped by just as frequently but didn’t have the luxury of being a billionaire. He still had to go to work. If Asami’s hovering presence bothered Akihito, the photographer did not mention it. Rather, he seemed to draw comfort from the man, looking to him as an anchor. There wasn’t the awkwardness that Kou expected, or the struggle to define themselves in this new relationship. They just were. 

It was good. 

“How much time are you taking off from the paper?” Kou asked his friend one night. Asami had to step out for a few minutes. He had gotten a phone call that made his eyebrows cross. 

“The doctor wants me to rest for the rest of the month,” Akihito frowned slightly. He did not look pleased at the prescribed bedrest. “Oshishi didn’t mind when I told him.” It sounded like Akihito minded, though. 

“Well duh,” Kou chuckled. He tried to stay positive. “You are making him a ton of money. If you need some time off, he should give it to you!”

Which was true. The paper’s sales had exploded once it came out that Akihito worked for them. They had already made their monthly quota by the time Oshishi found someone to write a story from Akihito’s perspective. Oshishi had so many reprints that they ran out of paper, which was slightly embarrassing. Wakazaki had given them some because he too was capitalizing on Akihito’s heroics. He was the first to run the story, to explain why there had been illegal gunfire on a busy street and to herald Akihito as a hero. 

“It’s paid time off, even,” Akihito admitted lowly. He flushed. He didn’t really think that he deserved the PTO, but he was not going to object. It was the only financial gain he had from the terrible ordeal. “A whole month of it.”

Oshishi and Wakazaki were gleeful about the news story. It looked like the paper was going to survive another quarter, if only because of Akihito. His editor demanded that he write his own account of the events as soon as he was up to it, reasoning that the public would pay even more for that story. Wakazaki said something about an autobiography when he called Akihito to congratulate him on saving an influential man’s life. Takaba’s name was once more a household one, and the public delighted in sending him get-well cards and flowers. Some even sent pocky. Kirsihima had a team filtering Akihito’s mail, in case Tsukishiba tried to get his revenge. The politician had been arrested the same day, alongside Taoka and most of his staff. Yang had fled the country, and though there were rumors of extradition, Akihito knew that the Chinese would never turn over one of their own. Yang was safe from the Japanese government. 

“You earned it,” Kou said. He smiled encouragingly at his friend. “You saved a life, and you got a bunch of crooked government hacks off the streets. This was amazing.”

Akihito rolled onto his side. It did not feel amazing. He was sore, embarrassed by the adoration and uncomfortable with the way people talked about him. When he had snatched the dossier out of Taoka’s hands, he had not been thinking about right and wrong, or taking down criminals. No, he had done it solely to save Asami’s life, damned be the consequences. He had put a lot of lives in danger, not cared about the taxi driver’s cab fare or the vendor’s souvenirs. He had caused just as much damage, and he felt bad because he wasn’t sorry about it. Akihito would do it all again to save Asami. 

“You get to go home tomorrow,” Kou sensed that Akihito’s mood had soured. He tried to stay positive, to keep his friend’s mind from darkening. “That’s exciting.”

“Yeah,” Akihito shrugged. Except he didn’t really know where he was going. Kenzou had tried phoning a couple of times, and Akihito studiously ignored him. He wasn’t going back to the stupid popcorn ceiling and the bloodstained floors. The police supposedly quarantined the apartment off for a few days while they processed the crime scene. Akihito did not know where Kenzou spent those days and he really didn’t care. “I guess.”

Kou had offered to let Akihito crash on his couch while he recuperated. It would be quiet and clean. Asami shot down the offer before Akihito had a chance to answer, claiming it was unsafe and that he needed access to medical care during his recovery. Which was true. He had a medication schedule, and his bandages needed to be changed regularly for another week. Plus, he had countless doctor’s appointments and check ups to make sure he was healing correctly. 

Akihito refused to move back into the penthouse. He wasn’t ready to be so separated from his friends just yet, or his lifestyle. He liked being closer to the ground, closer to his peers and the local bars. He had never felt like he belonged in the posh penthouse with the uppity Real Housewives of Shinjuku sneering at him. That was one thing he did not miss about his old life. 

“Do you know where you’re going?” 

“No,” Akihito smiled wanly. “Asami wants it to be a surprise.” 

“Well, you make sure you text me the address as soon as you get there. Takato and I want to have housewarming party for you!” Binged drinking, pizza and video games. It would be a great Friday night. Kou’s enthusiasm made Akihito’s face brighten. 

“That sounds epic,” he replied. And he meant it. 

Asami had been surprisingly accepting of Akihito’s decision. He did not needle or try to convince Akihito to return to the penthouse. He nodded and did not bring it up again for the rest day, when he announced that he had found Akihito an apartment. “I don’t need you to take care of me,” Akihito told the fixer, though there was no heat in his words. Rather, a warmth pooled in his gut and made his heart pound a little faster. 

“If you don’t want to go to the condo and I don’t want you to be somewhere unsupervised, we are going to have to compromise,” replied the fixer, as he affectionately stroked the back of Akihito’s hand. The photographer’s brush with death had made the man introspective. Now he was sure to make small gestures of affection––like holding Akihito’s hand while they watched a movie. The photographer never remarked on it, but he loved every second. 

Akihito had not argued with him. 

***

The police came to question him the day before he was released. They were stony faced and professional, not at all swayed by the media. Akihito appreciated that. They asked him how he discovered the plot, why he didn’t think to go to the police, and did he kill Nishio in self defense. Akihito answered it all honestly (but left the part out about Asami being a ginormous crime lord) and yes, he did kill Nishio by bashing his skull in with a lamp. He should have been more sorry that he had taken another life. Asami reassured him that Nishio was the scum of the earth, a man who would kill any man, woman or child for a paycheck. Akihito had avenged countless lives and saved many more by ending the man. 

“If we have any more questions, we’ll look you up,” the police officer promised. “Are you still apartment 308––“

“No,” Akihito cut them off. “I’ll never go back there again.” 

The detectives did not seem surprised. No one wanted to go home to a bloody carpet and a bad memory. “Where can we find you if we have any more questions? Just procedure,” they quickly rushed to reassure him. 

“Gentlemen,” Asami smoothly interrupted. He walked into the room, a coat draped over his arm and Kirishima by his side. “You may refer any further questions to my lawyer.”

“Asami-san!” the cops jumped up. Their eyes were wide and their palms sweaty. They had not expected the victim to be by the hero’s side. 

“Takaba-san is finished with your questions for today,” Kirishima interjected before they could protest. Not that they had anything else to ask Akihito then, but being ushered out of the room insulted their pride. “Nurse Tonda will show you out.”

The detectives left, surly grumbling. Once they were in the elevator, Kirishima nodded to Asami. “They’re gone, Asami-sama,”

The fixer looked at his lover with a blind in his eye. “Excellent.”

Akihito shifted in his hospital bed. “You look a little manic,” he noted with some trepidation. Fisting his starched sheets, he asked warily, not entirely sure he wanted an answer, “What’s going on?” Maybe Asami had been able to get ahold of Yang, or circumvent Tsukishiba’s team of lawyers and end the bastard. Asami Ryuichi was always gleeful when he got his evil way. 

Asami braced himself on the edge of the bed. “I am,” he told the blond. “It’s a good day.”

The photographer perked up a little bit. This wasn’t Asami talking all sinister, like a suave Dr. Evil. Asami seemed genuinely happy, which was a good thing. If he had to offed Tsukishiba, it must have been something legal, of which Akihito would never complain. “Why is it a good day?” Maybe he did want to know, after all. 

“Because, my Akihito,” the blond flushed at the endearment, “You are being discharged today.”

“What?!” Akihito lunged forward. He winced at the pain that echoed in his shoulder. “No!” A jubilant smile split is face and excitement overwrote rationality. “The doctor said I can’t leave until tomorrow.”

“We are aware,” Kirishima snapped open a small duffle bag. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt. He tossed them to Asai who was helping Akihito swing his legs over to the edge of the bed. With a curt nod, the secretary slid the blinds closed before stepping out of the room. 

“Then what’s going on?” Akihito laughed softly. 

“We are, as your friends would say, going to spring you out,” Asami winked. He slipped the hospital gown off Akihito’s shoulders. “Can you lift your arms up?”

“I’m not an invalid, you know,’ chastised Akihito. He held his arms up, keeping his elbow under his tender shoulder. It hurt too much to lift it up all the way. 

“Of course not,” Asami tender pulled his short over his bandaged arm. “That’s why you’ve been in the hospital the past ten days.”

“Hey,” the photographer pouted. Asami wrapped an arm around his waist to help him stand. “It’s because of you I’m here.”

Asami’s grip tightened. Instantly all levity evaporated from the room. Akihito stilled while Asami’s reply was so low that it was almost inaudible. “I’m very aware, Akihito.”

“I’m sorry,” Akihito put his hand on the fixer’s chest. Blinking, he stared at the hard lines of Asami’s face, unyielding in the eye of the storm and strong after all of the horrible years alone. “Just––forget about it. I didn’t mean it. This is supposed to be a good day. Please,” his breathy plea warbled. “Asami.”

Asami’s grip loosened. “Of course,” his mood was dour but he played the happy charade for his photographer. “Come on,” Asami helped him into he wheelchair. Akihito’s legs worked just fine, it was his upper body that was tender, but it seemed that Asami was going to adhere stringently to hospital procedure, and wheel Akihito to the car. The photographer did not complain. He was just excited to be released. “Let’s get you home.”

Home. The word fluttered uncomfortably in his stomach. Akihito really did not have a home of his own. His parents lived in Okinawa, and though they wanted Akihito to recover in their home, the photographer refused the offer. He was an adult, and going back to his parents would have made him feel like a failure. No, he wanted to stay as independent as possible, even if it exasperated Asami. 

The fact that Asami refused to tell him where he was going made the repudiation worse. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Asami, because Akihito did. It was that the fixer had the ability to twist all situations to fit his needs first. The photographer was afraid that he was going to end up in some compound on the edge of the city, surrounded by men in Kevlar vests and no other people in sight. He loved living close to his friends. He wanted to be able to walk to Takato’s for a home cooked meal, or crash at Kou’s on nights when they drank too much. And Asami never wanted to be party to any of that. 

It took a little while to get out of the hospital than expected. The staff had grown fond of Akihito during his extended stay, and matronly nurses stopped them to say goodbye. 

“You’ve become quite popular,” Asami noted as Nurse Tonda pressed a kiss to Akihito’s cheek. The woman must have been pushing sixty, and has snuck him home cooked sweets when she learned that he didn’t like the goopy hospital food. She was a favorite of Akihito’s as well, and he would miss her rice balls. He meant to get the recipe from her. The surprise check out made it slip his mind. 

“I’m sexy and I know it,” the blond chuckled. 

Asami chuckled as well. “Let’s hurry before any more of your fanbase accosts us,” he pushed Akihito forward. 

***

He was grateful that they took a dark SUV rather than the limo. Though it was armored, and obviously expensive, it blended in more with the crowd. “I can get in the car myself,” the photographer told Asami even as Suoh opened the door. 

“I’m sure you can,” Asami agreed. The fixer helped him stand anyway. Usually, he had Akihito scoot over to the other side before he entered the car, so the blond was stunned when Asami shut the door. Mouth dropping, he watched Asami circle the SUV to climb inside. The significance was not lost on him. If a sniper lay in wait, Asami’s body was a shield for Akihito. It would be the fixer who died, not Akihito. 

“Asami,” Akihito ducked his head, and squeezed his eye shut, forcing tears back. 

“Please, Akihito,” Asami bent his head low, leaning in close. His breath was warm, his words soft––meant only for Akihito. “Call me Ryuichi.”

Asami’s arm was dangerously close to Akihito’s. Maybe an inch separated them, and head still ducked to hide the flush of his cheeks, his fingers danced across the leather seat to brush over Asami’s hand. “Ryuichi,” he said. 

Asami’s hand turned, clasping their fingers together. Hope flit through golden eyes and for the first time in years, Akihito smiled for him. Not at him, but a smile because of Asami, only for Asami. True. Genuine. Happy. 

***

“No way!” Akihito pressed his nose against the window, neck craning upwards. “No freaking way!”

It felt like they had been in the car for hours, but he knew it had been maybe twenty minutes. He was antsy, ready to get to their destination. The first few minutes they were head further into Shinjuku, and then Suoh had taken a sharp right turn. Akihito knew immediately where they were, and it stunned him. They drove alongside the boardwalk where he had contemplated his life a fortnight prior, and where he chose Asami.

Tall brownstones lined the bustling street, and if he bent his head back as far as it could go, he could see rooftop terraces. Twenty-somethings crowded the sidewalk, clutching coffees and talking excitedly. It was young, vibrant. Close to Kou and Takato, though they were not in the gentrified housing development. It was everything Akihito had dreamed of, but could never have. 

“Asa––Ryuichi,” he finally looked back at the fixer, turning too quickly and pulling at his tender arm. He winced. It was nearly time for his meds. “I can’t––“

“This is our compromise, Akihito,” Asami told him. “I won’t separate you from you friends or put you back in a penthouse, but you are not living in the slums. You are going to have medical access, and a clean place to heal in a safe neighborhood. It’s this or back to your parents.”

“That’s fighting dirty,” he grumbled. 

“Something you have accused me of multiple times,” reminded Asami. “I can live with it once more.”

Okay, so that was a little funny. The photographer cracked a smile as Suoh pulled the car over. Asami did not wait for his men, rather opening his door and waving Kirishima away, opened Akihito’s. The photographer looked at him questioningly. “We are doing things right this time around,” was all the fixer said. 

The blond thought back to the past blur of days. There was never talk of them resuming their relationship. Instead of defining what they were, the two took the time to just be. There was natural rhythm between them, an undercurrent that did not need words. This was the first time that Asami voiced the desire to attempt an actual relationship and not some Stockholm entrapment. And though he was not sure that he wanted to resume a physical relationship with Asami, Akihito knew that he wanted the man to be a key figure in his life.

So he took the fixer’s hand with a smile and let himself be helped out of the car. “If you insist,” he teased. 

The corners of Asami’s mouth tightened, gold eyes shining. It was the closest thing Akihito would ever see to a smile while they were in public. It was enough. 

“We will wait for you here, Asami-sama,” Kirishima informed the fixer.

Asami nodded to the secretary. “This way,” he motioned to the end building. It was four stories, with the fourth story having a private terrace and all outside walls were detached. Akihito wasn’t the least bit surprised when the elevator door chimed open and he walked out into the fourth floor genkan. Of course Asami would not want noisy neighbors anywhere near the condo. If the man was going to spend any time there, it would have to be reasonably impervious to threats and safe from spies. 

There was no doorman, but a receptionist nodded to Asami when they entered the lobby. She was beautiful, dressed in a tight shirt with an impressive amount of cleavage. Akihito recognized her from the bar months ago. “Why is there a guard pretending to work here?” he hissed. Resentment flared in his chest. Though never addressed, he assumed that he left all the baggage that he associated with Asami behind. 

“For your safety,” Asami punched in a key code for the elevator. The elevator only stopped at the condo with the matching code. “Until Yang is taken care of, you are a potential target. And I will not compromise on your safety, nor that of your family.”

Akihito blinked. “My family?” he asked incredulously. He could imagine men in suits swarming his parents’ house, guns drawn when his mom accidentally set off the smoke detector. She wasn’t the best cook in the world. 

“Your family has no knowledge of my men,” the fixer assured him gently. “It’s simply a precaution should someone think to use them against you.” Asami knew that Akihito would never forgive himself if his family were hurt on account of him. This was the best way to protect all of the Takabas, especially Akihito. He would do anything for the tenacious blond. 

“Oh,” he hadn’t thought of that. It had only been a few years since he left Asami, but it was so easy to forget how evil the man’s world was. How ruthless and cruel humans could be. Asami had been that way, too, Akihito reminded himself. Looking at the man with the strong chin and kind eyes that could read his every expression, Akihito willed himself to trust that Asami had reformed, that he was a different person now, that he would be different with Akihito. 

“I didn’t think of that.”

“No harm will come to them,” Asami told him. “I promise you.”

“Thank you,” the worry that Akihito had not known existed until minutes before dissipated. Asami never one reneged on a promise. His family was safe. 

The elevator doors chimed, opening directly into his genkan. “Whoa,” it slipped out along with his breath. They were on the fourth floor––naturally–– but the unit had an open floor plan, giving it an industrial vibe. From his spot in the genkan, he looked out into the main living area. It’s main function seems to be comfort. The couch liked so plushy that he was arias he would sink into the soft abyss and never emerge. A ginormous entertainment center sat across from it, and Akihito could see all of his CDs and games linking the shelves. 

The kitchen was off to he left, stocked with food. There were stainless tel appliances, and a bar, complete with all the booze he could ever need. The entire back wall was made of windows, letting the sunlight in. There were no buildings to impede the new because they were so near the boardwalk. Water was as far as the eye could see. A table was against the glass wall, so he cold eat or work, while still gazing one Tokyo. Off to the right, was a door that opened to the rooftop terrace, complete with a hot tub. Akihito could have the coolest office parties out there. 

“Asami,” he slipped she shoes off. “I can’t––“ he stuttered in aw at the magnificence. “––This is too much.”

“Our compromise, Akihito,” the fixer reminded him. 

The compromise. Yes. This or his parents. He expected Asami to find some place reputable, a place that he would never be able to afford, but this––this was his dream home. Every detail, every nuance suited his tastes perfectly. From the hardwood to the exposed brick and the leather against the metal, it was better than anything he could've imagined. 

A thought struck him so forcefully that he took a step forward. There was nothing of Asami in the unit. Akihito looked questioningly at the tall man Asami put a hand between his shoulders, and gestured down the hallway. “There’s more.”

Akihito let himself be lead as they explored the rest of the place. There were two bedrooms teach with an en suite bath. In the mater, his cameras were inclosed in glass, displayed so masterfully that he wasn’t sure he would ever use them again. His clothes filled up the dressed, had ample rom in the walk-in closet. Everything in the room was his. 

“What’s wrong?” Asami sensed his confusion. 

Akihito gestured aimlessly, his head still turning, eyebrows pinched as he searched. it wasn’t that the expected Asami to move in with him, or for them to act as fi nothing had changed, because Akihito was grateful for the change. He had expected something of the fixer’s, something that tied Asami to the apartment too. Maybe a pack of Dunhills on the dresser or cognac in the wine fridge. Anything really. Something to suggest that they were going to attempt to have a relationship again. 

“Akihito,” Asami’s baritone voice jerked him from his stupor. “Follow me.”

The fixer took him wordlessly to the guest bedroom where he one the closet. Akihito’s mouth dropped open. One suit, passed and ready to go, hung in a garment bag. 

Akihito whirled around, mouth agape. “I don’t understand. 

“This suit is here for whenever you are ready,” Asami answered. 

“Read for you…to spend the night?” Akihito guessed. 

“Yes. Akihito,” Asami brushed a finger under his chin, pulling his gaze upwards. “I meant what I said. I will do right by the time. Part of that men's moving at your pace.”

Asami had given Akihito a safe space where eh could control the pace of the relationship. He could act freely without wondering if Asami would barge in and molest him. A place. where he could heal independently, where he could live the life near his friends that he always wanted. Asami had given him everything he wanted

Head dropping onto the crime lord’s chest, the photographer wept in thankful relief. Strong arms held him tenderly while Asami whispered soothingly. Any onus that reminded slipped from his soul, and Akihito finally, truly healed. 

***

“They sat on the oversized couch, clad only in their underwear as they talked. They apartment was dark, lit only by the white straight that shone through the windows. It had been hours since they had touched, but Akihito could feel the comforting heat emanating from Asami. It amazed him how natural the day had felt, for though time had passed, there was no awkward stuttering or rushed apologies over faux pas. 

“So, Suoh’s dating her now?” Akihito’s mind flashed back to the woman he called old. They were taking turns asking questions, trying to catch up. After all, a lot happened in those two years. Eventually, Akihito had to ask about Minamoto Yoko, and was stunned that she helped save his life.

“Yes,” Asami nodded. He did not remark about any jealousy he thought Akihito might have had, which the photographer appreciated. “It’s the first woman he has been serious about.”

“Go figure,” Akihito chuckled. “It’s weird how things work out.”

Silence settled for a moment as Akihito took a sip of his water. “Okay,” he nodded toward the fixer. “Your turn.”

The photographer had opened the door for past lovers, so he wasn’t surprised that Asami asked about Kenzou. “What drew you to Fujioma?”

Akihito smiled self-deprecatingly. “Honestly? He was a rebound that turned serious. I met him at Obaa-chan’s, one night when Kou let me drink too much. I was still angry with you, and he made me laugh, which felt good. I figured it would have a one night stand, but obviously I was wrong.” 

“When did it turn into something more?” asked the golden eyed man. He swirled the beer in his bottle, apprehension pooling his gut. This might be a question he did not want answered. 

“Well,” Akihito licked his lips. “I work up, and he was till cute, so the beer goggles weren’t wrong. He made pancakes, and tried to look cool by flipping them into air.” Akihito chucked fondly at the memory. “One of them got stuck on the ceiling, but we couldn’t reach it. So we had to wait for it to fall down on it’s own.”

Asami quirked an eyebrow, “You entered a relationship with Fujioma because he got food stuck on his ceiling?” The fixer glowered in the darkness. His brilliant mind reeled, searching for a way to flirt with Akihito without seeming like he was competing with Fujioma.    
“Yeah, I mean no,” Akihito shook his head. “Kenzou made me laugh. He was a normal guy, and that’s what I wanted. He was so everything that you weren’t,” the photographer leaned forward, gesturing with his good arm. “After we ended, I wanted to forget about you. Kenzou helped me do that.”

“Forget me?” the words were softy, nearly a whisper int he darkness. The crumbling wall round Asami Ryuichi’s heart shattered and raw pain flayed through him. Self righteous anger had mellowed the pain of Akihito leaving him, but this pain was mind shattering. The one thing in the world that he treasured wanted to forget about him, and Asami had no one to blame but himself. 

“Well…yeah,” Akihito sounded concerned, his hand reaching for Asami’s arm. “I haven’t had a tone of experience in the break up department, but aren’t you supposed to forget about your first love and move on?”

The very breath in his body vanished. “You loved me?” he could bare speak. 

“Yea, Ryuichi. I didd,” Akihito seemed surprised that Asami hasn’t realized the before. “Of course it wasn’t a healthy love. I hoped I’d find that with Kenzou. Obviously you can see how well that went.”

“What changed?” Asami asked, perhaps a little too quickly. He had to know what mistakes Fujioma had made, what he himself had done wrong, and what he could do to fix it. 

“Nothing changed,” the photographer shrugged, not entirely comfortable with he direction of the conversation. However, through some unspoken agreement, boatmen were being brutally honest. Out of respect for Asami, who would not have asked the question if he did not want to know, he answered truthfully. “We are just different people, and we don’t mesh well together long term.”

“How so?”   
“Well,” Akihito licked his lips, feeling a bit like he was being interrogated. “I’m a messy person, and he’s not. I like horror movies and staying up late. Kenzou goes to bed early and gets up even earlier. We just don’t suit each other well.”

Compromise was w rod that suddenly floated between Asami and Akihito often. The fixer assumed that it was something Akihito practiced with Fujioma. Apparently, it took more effort to save a relationship than he first assumed. “And neither of you tried to change?” 

“We were both too old, too set in who we were. Personalities just don’t change, and you shouldn’t have to change for your partner.”

“Why not?” He was attempting to change for the blond, and Akihito seemed pleased with his efforts. 

“When you love someone, you love them for who they really aren: the good, the bad, and the ugly. No exceptions,” he responded. He eyed Asami shrewdly. “I didn’t ask you to change, either.”

“You did when you left.”

Akihito already had an answer for that statement, because he had given their relationship a lot of thought. “No. All of you, I could handle. The smoking, the crime, the sex drive. None of that bothered me. All I ever wanted from you was respect.”

“I’ve always held you in the highest esteem,” retorted Asami. He, too, had given this significant thought. 

If you truly respected me, you would have respected my autonomy. You don’t get to control me or stop me from doing something you don’t like.”

“I discussed the dangers––“

“No,” Akhit interrupted. “You told me what to do. If we had a discussion like adults do, that would have been one thing, but you would order me around like a dog. You continuously put me in a position where I had no choice but to rebel, or else I would lose my independence. I won’t ask you to change, but you can’t ask me to change.”

There was nothing the fixer could say because it was all true. He could apologize, but he had done the so much that Akihito had forbidden him from doing it again. So they sat there in silence, contemplatively. There was no judgement emanating from Akihito, no anger or resentment. He was content to let Asami mull over his arguments. Asami would have given anything to know what he was thinking. 

“We need to get you a new cell phone,” the fixer stated eventually, just to break the suffocating silence. “You have to promise to not give this one to a vagrant.” Mirth lead his last sentence. 

Akihito smirked, pleased that his decoy had fooled the crime lord briefly. “I didn’t want you tracking me with it.”

“I tried,” conceded Asami. “Once I realized you weren’t coming home––“

They both froze, any levity in the room evaporating. Home. Together. Happy. It was too soon to talk about the good memories. 

“When we found the phone, I knew you were running, “Asami continued on, studiously ignoring the pain. “I had men check Kou’s home, Takato’s, your parents. Anywhere you might be. I couldn’t find you anywhere. You were just gone,” he aspirated the last word. “At first, I thought you were taken, as unlikely as it seemed. I put out feelers, which turned up nothing. After a week, I was forced to accept that you left, and sent your things to Kou’s.”

“Forced?” That did not sound like Asami. No one could make the man do anything he didn’t want to.

“Kirishima,” admitted the man ruefully. He came home to the packed boxed and the secretary insisting that it was unhealthy for him to continue his manic search. 

Akihito frowned. He never assumed that the break up affected Asami. The fixer was t typically detached, only showing emotion sure sex. They never smiled, never teased each other or flirted. Of course, Asami would shower him with unwanted gifts and watch a zombie movie marathon with him. 

“What?” It was Asami’s turn to sound surprised. “Did you think that I didn’t care about you at all?”

“I figured you liked me, or maybe liked the power you had over me, knowing that I would always come back. But nothing beyond that,” he shrugged. 

“I didn’t know that,” the fixer countered. “Every time I watched you leave, my heart stopped beating. I couldn’t breathe. I was so afraid that you would come to your sense and leave, or than an emu would fin you. Hurt you.

“Ironically, the only time I didn’t think that was the night you left,” Asami admitted.

“It was the only time I ever thought about leaving,” Akihito was shocked, listening to Asami. First off, themas was discussing his feelings, which had always been taboo. That made the night even more surreal and freaky. However, he was more floored by Asami’s feelings. He never knew that the fixer had cared for him so deeply. 

“Where did you go when you left?” Asami Ryuichi was certifiably brilliant, but he never was able to deduce how Akihito escaped him. His men searched high and low, finding nothing. Asami killed one as both punishment and warning to the others. 

Maybe he shouldn’t tell, in case he needed to run again. Looking at Ryuichi’s shining eyes, Akihito decided tot rust this new man, who was trying so desperately to change. “I kept riding the buss. Getting on one and getting off a few stops later. When they weren’t running, I slept in the terminals. I knew you would be tracking my cell, so I gave it to the homeless dude, and made sure to go nowhere but the busses. I knew you wouldn’t search in town after the first day.”

“I didn’t,” Asami informed him. “I searched the country, but never the transpiration.” He assumed that Akihito would not linger and risk being seen. It was bold, but his photographer had always been fearless. “Like I said, Kirishima was the one to call off the search.” The secretary had become the acting CEO those few days, because Asami had become too crazed to think, let alone run Sion. It was or the good of the company and Asami that he ended things. 

“I’m sorry,” Akihito stuttered. The fixer could hear the tears in his voice. “I didn’t know I hurt you. I thought you didn’t care and––“

“Akihito,” Asami’s deep voice was solemn, stopping any apology. “It’s better that this happened. This transparency would not have occurred prior to this. I am sorry that it took two years for me to come to my senses.” 

He tenderly stroked the blond’s downy cheek. “Never doubt, Akihito, that I care for you. As much as I am capable of feeling, I feel it for you.”

The blond leaned into his touch. Asami could feel him smiling. 

***

Unsurprisingly, Asami stayed the night, and the two talked until the sun rose. The fixer showered and left for Sion. A little while later, his buzzer rang. It took him a second to figure out how to answer it, but he was glad that he did. It turned out that Asami hired Nurse Tonda to be his home healthcare nurse. She gave him his medicine and changed his bandages. Laughing at his eagerness, she promised to teach him how to make her rice balls. 

When Asami came by to see him after work, he was surprised to see a home cooked meal on the table. Just like old times. Surprisingly, Asami didn’t make it home that night. Or the night after. Or even the next night. Kirishima kept bringing clean suits and rewash underwear until Asami ran out. Rather than having them dry cleaned and returned to Asami’s penthouse, the exasperated secretary retuned them to Akihito’s, along with Asami’s personal items from his home. 

Akihito could feel the smugness radiate from Kirishima as the man dropped off the last box when he bid the two lovebirds goodbye. Asami and Akihito laughed quietly at the ridiculousness of it all as they spent a leisurely Sunday unpacking. 

And all was well in their world. 

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for seeing this through to the end with me. My love to you all!

**Author's Note:**

> This is a three part story, because for some reason I like the number three.
> 
> Now onto some business for those of you who have been with me from the beginning, and you newbies can read too! I received a PM asking why I had stopped writing my two longer fics: My Sunshine and Hyacinthus Bloomed. It's a two part reason.
> 
> First of all, I felt like the stories had become muddled. I received a few reviews that made me think I was falling away from the AxA focus in both stories. That was never my intention. I ship AxA hardcore, and I don't ever want to lose that in these stories. I need some time from both of those fictions in order to revamp them, and get back to the my original intents.
> 
> Until then, I will be writing more one and two shots about AxA. They will be the definite focal point of the stories. I want to make sure I have a fundamental understanding of the couple before I attempt more fleshed out fics with other characters, but I can get distracted by OCs. Also, I want to spend some time getting to know Akihito. He's a little troubling for me to write, so I need a good grasp on his character before i push forward with either of the those stories.
> 
> Be aware, this is a temporary hiatus for the two stories. It won't be too long before I am back to writing them.
> 
> Secondly, Cam and I broke up last week. The first day was hard, but I am doing quite well. However, I am not in a romantic mood. And you can see how that might be a problem with HB. I don't write fluff anyway, so you all won't notice a change in my stories. But I don't feel like doing anything with bold declarations, or cute scenes. Not for a little bit at least.
> 
> Thank you for your patience. Have a great week!


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